


floatin' on a feeling, fighting with the tide

by lovethyworld



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexuality, Cheesy, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Holidays, I attempt comedy, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, POV Third Person, Piano, Present Tense, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Unreliable Narrator, i would say enemies to friends to lovers but it's not entirely accurate, oh yeah so much cheesiness, well actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovethyworld/pseuds/lovethyworld
Summary: An easy recipe for holiday chaos:1) Korra Kalvak, a high school pianist with a fiercely competitive spirit. The self-declared rival of Asami Sato.2) Asami Sato, the aforementioned rival. Also a pianist, but that's where the similarities end.3) One duet competition in the middle of December.Throw them together. Stir it up. We'll see what happens.
Relationships: Bolin/Opal (Avatar), Korra/Asami Sato, Mako/Prince Wu (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 189





	1. marcato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, this is my first tlok fic! i'm aiming to finish by christmas, and it'll hopefully be updated every three-four days. chapters are 2400-3000 words long. no smut/cursing will be depicted
> 
> the title is from sam smith's "the lighthouse keeper"! go check it out, it's a wonderful song, and they have a wonderful voice too.
> 
> this fic draws heavily upon my own experiences as a pianist, and i've slipped in some jargon that some might not understand. i'll define them at the beginning of every chapter.
> 
> duet - a piece written for two people and four hands, typically on the same piano (but two is possible as well). it's usually quite challenging to perfect because you have to be in perfect sync with your partner.  
> etude - a short musical composition, usually designed to improve the skill of the player  
> scales - a sequence of notes that go up and down; a rudimentary skill that gets harder and harder because more experienced players increase the tempo
> 
> small note: i didn't depict korra's ptsd in this fic, simply because i'm not qualified enough. i sincerely respect those who have survived trauma, but i avoided writing it in this story because i have never experienced anything like it, and i know practically nothing about it. i would hate to show incorrect assumptions about a topic that is so stigmatized already.
> 
> i will try my best to stay true to the characters' varying heritages, but if anything i write is problematic, please please tell me! i'll take it down as soon as possible and work to be more respectful. 
> 
> enjoy! <3

Korra is officially going to scream.

But, since pulling her swim hoodie over her head and yelling into the fabric is probably a bad idea in front of an adult, she settles for a loaded remark instead. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

Tenzin sighs his exasperated sigh, the one that he usually reserves for his smallest son when he tries to start a pillow fight to push back his bedtime. “I’ve been your piano teacher for eleven years, Korra. You know me pretty well. Do you think I’m the kind of person who kids?”

“I mean…” She shrugs, kicking her feet under the piano.

He clears his throat and sighs again, loud and gusty like a breath of Seattle wind. "Nobody knew they were going to change the competition to ensemble playing until yesterday. I would have told you earlier if I could."

"Can't I just... drop out?" Korra knows the words are hopeless before she even finishes saying them.

Tenzin is shaking his head. "The fact is that you and her are the oldest students who haven't played songs with someone else yet. So think of this as an experience, not a chore."

Korra leans back on the bench and lets her fingers rest on the piano. They fall into position like magnets clicking together. Poised to play the solo she's been learning for the past few months. "I literally _just_ perfected my Earl Wild etude," she says pleadingly.

"No can do," Tenzin tells her, and the finality in his voice shuts her up. "You are playing in the duet competition and that is final."

She tries a different tactic. "Isn't there anyone else I can play with? Kuvira, or... something?"

"Last time you two were in the same room, you nearly got into a fistfight over who would turn pages. So, no."

Ever since they started piano around the same time, she's been steadfast rivals with one other girl in her studio. _Asami._ Even just thinking her name sends a surge of adrenaline through Korra. They’ve grown up warring for the trophy in various competitions, each of them honing their piano skills, trying to outplay the other in everything they do.

Since they’re both seniors at the same high school, they see each other on a daily basis, but they’re far from friends. They tend to trade snipes and caustic jokes instead. From an outsider, their relationship thrives on being mean to each other. But to Korra, although she would never admit it, Asami is a big driving force in her academic and music improvement. (Also, maybe, sometimes, the other girl makes her laugh with her dry sense of humor.)

And there’s something in Korra always itching for victory, for the number one spot in all the activities she participates in. Maybe it’s in her genes. Maybe it’s woven into her personality. No matter what, she’s had multiple friends call her out for it multiple times, and she can’t seem to shake it.

Which is why she can’t _bear_ the idea of partnering up for a competition. And with Asami, of all people. The steadfast rift between them is what drives her, in many aspects. To be better, stronger, greater than her. What happens if that gap is closed? What’s left to fight for?

Korra’s thoughts go around and around in dizzying circles, until she can barely stand it anymore. She presses her fingers into the piano keys with a dissonant bang, so unlike the lovely chords she usually coaxes out through her music.

Tenzin watches her with steady eyes. “I’m aware of your… relationship with Asami-”

“Please don’t say it like that-”

“And I think this duet project will only help bring the two of you together. It is Christmas, after all. A time of bonding.”

“Bonding, schmonding.” Korra rolls her eyes and tugs at her sleeves, never seeming to stop moving. “Can we get to the Wild etude now?”

“Scales first,” Tenzin says. He mimes the technique he’s referring to, a methodical up-and-down motion that spans nearly the entire keyboard. It’s orderly and systematic and Korra hates it. (She would much rather fly through her repertoire instead, with quick trills and blazing tempos, rather play her advanced songs than work on this elementary drill.)

But she moves her fingers along the keys anyway, following the paths laid out in her minds’ eye. And if she plays with a little more fire than usual, misses a few notes through her annoyance, Tenzin doesn’t say anything.

“Thank you,” Korra calls, though her heart isn’t in it. She waves goodbye to Tenzin and steps out the door, riffling through her sheet music. She takes a few steps down the street toward her parked car-

And runs straight into someone.

Now, Korra will be the first one to say that she’s never really been one for rom-coms. They’re cute and all, but she finds most of them too cheesy, the metaphors too flowery, the fluff too fluffy. (And, to be completely honest, she got tired of the hetero love triangle nonsense after the first ten movies solely about it.) But even she has to admit that this particular coincidence feels a whole lot like the films her parents love. Like the universe pushing two people together, a comforting reminder that destiny has plans for you. That you’ll find happiness, no matter how you fail.

The collision makes Korra stumble and she loses her balance. She falls rather ungracefully onto the sidewalk in a heap, and her loose sheet music flutters around her like lame butterflies. _Knew I should have taped those together._

She scrambles to collect them, her brain moving a mile a minute. At the edges of her vision, she can see the other person collecting their fallen piano books as well, probably another one of Tenzin’s students. 

“I’m sorry,” tumbles out of her mouth, although she doesn’t really care about anything besides picking up all the pieces of her etude right now. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” comes the reply, a quietly melodious voice that carries on Tenzin’s narrow street easily. “Hey, is that the Embraceable You etude? It’s one of my favorites.”

Korra brightens as she scrapes the last paper off the ground. “Me too! The way the harmonies blend into each…”

The words falter as she stands up and gets a full look at the other person for the first time. Dark hair, bright green eyes, nimble fingers that all piano judges seem to praise. The person Korra has built her entire piano career around.

“You,” she says blankly.

Asami looks vaguely stunned. “You,” she echoes.

Korra tries to say something, but the words stick in her mouth. She had been going for something snarky, maybe a little biting, but now that she knows she has to spend the next month learning a last-minute duet with this girl, that might not be the best move anymore. (And also, Asami’s tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and Korra’s breathing is catching a little bit, but correlation doesn’t mean causation, right?)

So she trades sarcasm for simplicity, not wanting to scramble her thoughts any further. “We’re partners for the duet competition now. The organizers changed it to ensemble playing instead of solo.”

“Oh.” Asami looks at her strangely. “That’s fun, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Korra affirms, and then she falls silent. The witty chemistry that usually sparks between the two of them is practically nonexistent now, replaced with almost unbearable awkwardness. She thinks of rom-coms again with their persistent idea of meet-cutes, and then she shoves them out of her mind because she really can’t stand them right now.

They stare at each other in painful silence. Korra has no idea what’s happening, this strange new tension. It’s probably Tenzin’s fault.

Asami recovers the situation elegantly. “Since we’re playing together, I guess we should swap phone numbers,” she observes.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” It’s a weaker comeback than Korra would have liked, but she’s grateful for the break in the quiet.

They trade phones and program their numbers in. When the other girl hands Korra’s phone back to her, she renames the contact to Salami.

“Should we practice today?” Asami asks Korra, and the latter can only give a grudging nod. “I’ll text you about it later.”

A thought strikes Korra. “Are you the next student today? Did you steal Kuvira’s lesson time or something?”

“Tenzin decided I needed a longer lesson, so he gave me Kuvira’s time slot,” Asami answers smugly. “She’s heading off to college soon, so she’s given up on piano at this point.”

Korra nearly flings all her music into the air again.

When the front door opens and Asami steps in with a sheaf of music in her hand, Korra’s parents look at their daughter in surprise, probably because her self-declared nemesis just walked into their house. In return, Korra fastens her eyes somewhere above Asami’s shoulder and tells her, “The piano is over here.”

The two of them walk into the music room and lay out the sheet music on the piano. “Have you played through the duet yet?” Asami asks.

“In my defense, I’ve been busy with swim team and other stuff.” It’s not a lie; Korra’s uncle taught her to juggle multiple things at once. Maybe it was good advice, though it didn’t end up working out so well for him.

“Okaaaay,” says Asami, drawing out the word. “Have you even looked at it?”

“Have you?” Korra shoots back.

“Of course I have! The competition’s in, like, a month!” Asami brushes back her hair shakily. Watching her, Korra would think she’s… panicking, almost. And although she spends plenty of time teasing her, this is something she hasn’t seen yet. They might be competitors, but Korra feels a strange urge to comfort her, to be there for her.

“It’s all right,” Korra tells her, her words more of a gut reaction than a thought-out plan. “We can pull it together, I’m sure. Besides, I learn fast. Faster than you, maybe.”

For one breathless moment, Asami is quiet, and Korra feels her heart thud weirdly in her chest. Then a smile edges onto the other girl’s face and she shoots back, “Don’t even go there.”

Twenty minutes later, Korra and Asami have decidedly not pulled it together.

“Your hand keeps bumping into mine,” Korra groans, resting her forehead on the keys.

“That’s the composer’s fault, not mine.”

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, move over or something? It’s really annoying.” Deep down, Korra knows she’s probably being unfair, but she never expected working with Asami to be this _exasperating_. Every little thing is setting her on edge.

For the first time, Asami snaps back with real venom in her voice. “I can’t exactly move over without screwing up all the notes, you know.”

Korra looks up, meeting Asami’s green eyes. In the low light of the room, they look like pools of jade, or something equally poetic. _Focus_ , she reminds herself. To win this competition, they have to work together, no matter how much it infuriates her.

She sucks in a deep breath and sits up straight. “Let’s try again.”

Asami looks torn between a prickly retort or working on the duet, but it seems like she eventually decides on a latter. They count off a couple measures and launch into the music.

Unsurprisingly, it’s a rough start. Asami stumbles on her entrance and Korra misses her cue to use the damper pedal. They trade glares and smirks whenever one of them misses a note, which probably doesn’t help.

But as they ease into the song, the music starts feeling more natural, like water flowing downhill. It runs on and on, not stopping for anything, even if it tumbles over a rock here or there. Elation bubbles through Korra as her fingers fly over the keys, playing chords, pausing for rests, letting the song truly live. For a moment, it stops just feeling like a piano duet and something far greater: planets aligning, puzzle pieces fitting together, hands finding each other in the dark. It feels real. It feels _right._

Someone hits a wrong note. Korra can’t tell who, or where, or why. But she picks up on that note of dissonance, just echo-y enough to pull her out of her euphoric daze. And now she’s scanning the keyboard, trying to find the mistake, and then she hears another wrong note and oh shoot that was definitely her.

Asami looks up, the glow in her eyes fading, even as her fingers continue moving. She peers at Korra’s hands, and Korra peers back, and they both register a cascade of wrong notes.

Frustration swells inside Korra. She tries to keep going, doggedly moving her hands along the keys. But she can feel them falling apart now, offbeat, all semblance of expression gone. That moment of harmony a few seconds ago had disappeared like dewdrops under sunlight.

After a few seconds, she can't take it anymore and yanks her hands off the piano. "It's not working," she says angrily, breathing hard.

Asami sits back too, face flushed from the effort of playing so quickly. "Really?" she snaps sarcastically. "I couldn't tell."

"What happened?" Korra feels unusually disgruntled, but she can't figure out why. _We were doing so well..._

"Well, you made a mistake, and I was trying to figure out what you did wrong-"

"What are you talking about? It was definitely you who messed up-"

"No way! You didn't even look at the piece before this-"

To be honest, Korra doesn't like actually fighting with Asami. It's all friendly rivalry, positive competition. At least, up until now. She's sure it was Asami's fault - after all, it couldn't have been hers. She's a good piano player. She doesn't make mistakes.

They go back and forth for a few minutes, trying to determine whose fault it was. In a completely civilized manner, of course. No insults were spoken. No nicknames were called.

Well, maybe a few.

Finally, Asami sighs and tangles her fingers in her lap. “Shouldn’t we just go back to practicing? Arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

Korra is about to respond, but something in her possesses her to look at the other girl. And when she does, it’s oddly revealing. Asami always shows up at school with her hair and makeup perfectly done, her posture perfectly poised. But now, all she’s doing is slumping, her hair coming loose from its tie, her eyes dull. She looks tired, to be honest. For the first time, Korra wonders if there’s more going on in her personal life. Maybe even the great Asami falls prey to struggles sometimes.

So she folds up the music and lets it fall to the ground. “Nah, I think we should take a break. Should we practice tomorrow, or are you too busy with trying to figure out how to drive?”

Some of the old light rekindles in her green eyes. “I got my license months before you. Idiot.” The word is more affectionate than insulting, Korra thinks, and the inside of her body practically catches on fire when the implications of her thought settle.

She realized for certain she’s not straight two years ago, when she noticed her music taste consisted solely of objectively gorgeous female songwriters. Then again, she’s had ill-fated romantic feelings for boys that can’t be ignored. For now, she’s decided on bisexual, though she’s not out to anyone yet. From time to time, she finds her gaze drifting toward people in her classes and she has to pull it away because her last relationship was a _complete_ disaster. (Moral of the story: never date your best friend, especially if that friend happens to be a complete buffoon around anyone he hasn’t known for over a year.)

Korra gets to her feet and wonders if she should hug Asami. The thought is strange, foreign, and the weight of it twists her arm motions into a weird two-handed handshake instead. Asami gives her a questioning look, but takes both her hands and shakes them, her skin pale against Korra’s darker shade.

They walk to the front of the house and Asami slips out the door, but not before she shoots a wry “Go practice” over her shoulder. Korra watches her cherry-red car back out of the driveway and closes the door before a gust of Washington State winter wind can make it inside.

A few minutes later, sprawled on her bed and letting her Spotify blast at full volume, Korra’s phone buzzes. _Salami: Same time, same place tomorrow?_ (Of course she uses perfect grammar. She’s not sure why she expected anything else.)

Korra thumbs out a quick reply - **_see you then_ ** \- and hits send. She still has her doubts about working with Asami, the girl whose only goal in life is probably to outshine Korra, but maybe they can pull it off.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the embraceable you etude that i mentioned in this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlPBPM7_CpU (i don't know how to link lmao sorry)
> 
> if you enjoyed this a kudos/comment would be so so appreciated!! thank you for reading, and stay safe <3
> 
> -songbird


	2. accelerando

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've been pining after the girl i like for a couple days, and i ended up writing it into this chapter. what can i say? i'm projecting
> 
> no definitions in this chapter! except for the title, but that's a thing you'll have to research yourself. :)

The table is an ocean, so what does that make her?

It stretches out before her, wide and vast and impossible to bridge. The knots in the wood are rolling waves and the plate of breakfast in front of her is the sandy shore. Her father is the far-off sanctuary on the other side of the water, the comfort that she once knew, the warmth and the light that was blown out like a candle flame years ago.

Asami decides that means she’s an island. Distant. Alone. Though, from time to time, she feels otherwise.

She forces a smile and sits down in her seat on the far left side of the table, though the weak grin quickly drops off her face when she notices her father isn’t even looking at her. It’s nothing new, it happens every morning - they have breakfast in painful silence while he pays his only daughter no attention - but she can’t seem to stop herself from hoping. (Maybe she should. She’s tried before.)

Her fork clinks against her plate in the silence, a gentle cry for her father to look at her, to see her like he never has. He doesn’t. His gaze stays pinned to his copy of  _ The Seattle Times _ , his face almost completely hidden behind it.

If she listens hard enough, she can almost hear the sound of her mother’s laugh, the brushes of her fingers against the piano keys. It’s been six years since they lost her, but Asami could swear she sees her around the corners of their mansion sometimes. Yasuko made their house full of laughter and music and song, so full that it felt like it would overflow sometimes. After she passed, eleven year old Asami stood in the foyer and hammered her fists against the wall. The sound echoed and echoed around the skeleton of what had once been their home.

She shovels eggs into her mouth, feeling as if she’s drowning in her unspoken thoughts. Her father, on the opposite side of the table, hasn’t even touched the food that their cook made for them.

It’s been six years since they lost her. It’s been five since her father was jailed for money embezzlement. Two since he bought his way out from behind the bars. But she can’t remember the last time they had a real conversation, since they talked like they did when her mother was alive. She didn’t tell him when she won the science fair, or when she beat Korra out for a piano opportunity for the second time, or when she broke down on Mother’s Day in the school bathroom and couldn’t breathe right for ten minutes.

She wonders if he knows her at all anymore.  


Today, though, something feels different. Asami’s hand drifts toward the pocket in her jeans, where her phone is tucked. Maybe it’s the rehearsal yesterday and the strange sympathy in Korra’s eyes. Maybe it’s that the clouds outside are shadowed with rain, ready to burst, filling the air with crackling electricity and anticipation.

Maybe it’s her. Maybe she’s better.

It's no secret that Asami is a perfectionist, least of all to herself. Mistakes grate at her like nails against a chalkboard, and every Buzzfeed quiz she's ever taken at 2 in the morning has told her she fears failure. (Which, like, might not be accurate. But 2 in the morning, sleep-deprived Asami feels otherwise.)

So it's not a secret either that she wishes she had an actual relationship with her father. They used to be so close that they could tinker in the garage side by side, wordlessly fitting parts and pieces into one greater whole. When her mother passed away, their creations rusted. They fell apart. There's probably some weird metaphorical meaning there that Asami doesn't care to explore.

It's been a while since then.

She barely remembers the feeling of her father's hug.

So when he clears his throat and shuffles his newspaper, Asami sits up straighter and waits with bated breath. Perhaps today will be the day that they fit together again, like the puzzle pieces they used to be.

A millisecond passes. His eyes raise above his paper. They shine deep brown in the light, the color of the table separating them. It feels like inches. It feels like miles.

Asami meets his gaze. He pulls it away.

Slumping down feels like all the air has been forcibly expelled from her body. She's really not sure why she's so disappointed -  _ what was I expecting? _ But she can't deny the aching longing buried inside her, the part of her that's still eight years old and wants nothing but to go ice-skating with her father on Christmas Eve again.

Maybe it's idealistic. Maybe it's naive. She doesn't really care.

She repeats it to herself as she gets up from the table, walks to her car, drives to school.  _ I don't really care. I don't really care. I don't really care. _

It doesn’t change anything.

School is a blur. Always has been, probably always will be. She’s never had much trouble with swallowing the information their teachers feed them and regurgitating it back to them whenever there’s an exam. So as a result, she tends to zone out during her classes, although she’s a master at  _ looking _ like she’s paying attention. It’s what she does every day, and it’s what she’s doing now, sitting in silence class with her gaze fixed in the teacher’s general direction.

The things they learn about aren’t that difficult anyway - sometimes Asami finds herself up late at night, sucked into a rabbit hole of searching for extra information on the internet. What can she say? She’s not good at sleeping. And she likes learning.

_ Korra would call me a nerd. _

She shakes her head like a dog, trying to get the thought out and drawing side-eyes from the other students around her. Where did that come from? Why was she thinking about it? And, most importantly, how could she make sure it never popped up again?

Everyone knows that Asami Sato is bi. There are a few people who hate it, for whatever reason (it’s not like it’s bothering them), but for the most part, her peers are cool with it.

Well,  _ almost _ everyone knows it.

Her father, her father. Asami’s thoughts circle back to Seattle’s resident billionaire, again and again and again. Just like they always do.

Her pencil scratches across the paper as she tries to drown out the teacher’s over-enthusiastic voice. She  _ cannot _ be attracted to Korra. There’s no way. She just can’t. Can’t think about the way her dark skin held the warmth of the sunlight and she shot the ball straight into the goal at last year’s soccer game, can’t think about her blue eyes looking sympathetically at her when she started feeling panicky yesterday-

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

Asami breaks her pencil lead against the paper. The other students don’t even bother to try to hide it as they stare openly at her. She’s sure her appearance right now is a departure from her usual put-together look. She can feel her face flushing, and she ties back her messy hair hurriedly. Despite what others may think, she’s not a big fan of drawing attention.

The teacher, an eccentric man named Varrick with even more eccentric eyebrows, looks directly at her and taps on the SmartBoard. “Care to answer this question, Sato?”

She would care if she could understand it. She’s been daydreaming for too long. Asami squints at the jumble of messy letters and numbers as a strained silence settles.

Varrick somehow manages to sound unsurprised and disappointed at the same time when he breaks the quiet. “That’s what I thought.”

He returns to his rambling. The rest of the class returns to staring blankly at their teacher’s handwriting (or at least what passes for handwriting). Asami returns to feeling like a prisoner in her own thoughts. Her brain circles around her feelings again, and again. It does the same thing four more times before class ends.

Asami swears lunch happens every day, but she’s still always surprised when the bell rings after second block and all the high schoolers go streaming out their classroom doors. It’s almost surprising how quickly their demeanor changes, going from dutiful students being generally quiet to the rowdy teenagers they really are. She supposes that it goes to show what control does to people.

She’s always one of the last people out of the classroom - today is no different. Asami sweeps her pencils into her pencil pouch, which goes into the second pocket in her backpack. Her binder, the first. Her laptop, the back pocket. She would never say she has OCD because she hasn’t been diagnosed with it, but she’s definitely a bit of a neat freak. (On second thought, maybe a lot of a neat freak.)

“Hey. Sato.” Asami’s not sure why her science teacher insists on referring to students by their last names. It gives her a little twinge of something like guilt or self-consciousness every time she hears it.

Varrick comes bounding down the aisle. His face is conspiratorial, and she’s expecting another one of his horrible jokes. It’s a bolt out of the blue when he tells her, “Stop sitting in the library for lunch.”

Her mouth opens, but no words come out. It takes a few seconds to get her voice under control. “Um. What?” Silently, Asami curses her social awkwardness, but there’s not really much she can do about it.

“Listen,” Varrick says, dropping his voice and glancing furtively from side to side. “You’re a senior. Don’t you have better things to do than hang out in the library alone?”

_ No, not really, _ she wants to answer.  _ Everybody always looks at me weirdly for being rich and a Sato and the heir to a multimillion dollar company. I always feel like they’re judging me and it’s scary and it makes me want to hibernate. Maybe just for a few months. Until the end of the school year would be good. _

“I guess,” she tells him grudgingly instead, because she doesn’t feel like reading him the mental persuasive essay she’s already begun to draft.

Relief washes over his face. “Thanks, Sato. My assistant and I have things to do there. This will give us a little more privacy.”

It’s only after Asami’s stepped out of the classroom that she realizes the implications of his last couple sentences. She hates every one of them.

Asami knows whispering like the back of her hand. It’s what she used to do with her childhood best friend Opal, before the latter moved out of Seattle and the two of them just grew apart. It’s what she sees and hears and feels sinking into her skin every time she moves through a crowded hallway. It’s what she’s running from right now.

She walks briskly through the school, holding her head high. Asami can practically feel the stares of her classmates, red-hot against her pale skin, burning like sparks launched from a campfire that just so happened to land a lucky shot.

The chatter of the other students worms its way through her skull, pounding so loudly in her head it drowns all of her other thoughts out. Asami picks up the pace, walking, jogging, running through the school, her heart rate speeding up, aiming for everywhere and her destination nowhere in particular. She  _ hates _ situations like these, where there’s just people everywhere and the noise is stifling in every way possible.

For the second time in the same amount of days, she runs headlong into someone.

This time, Asami stays on her feet. That is, until she looks at the other person and does a double take so hard she nearly actually loses her balance. “ _ Opal? _ ”

“...Asami?” She’s taller, prettier, but Asami still sees her same friend: excitable eyes, short dark hair. Recognition flares in her face and the next second they’re hugging. Asami has no idea who initiated the embrace, but she lets herself melt into the other girl’s arms, feeling like a carefree kid again.

After a moment, Opal pulls away, her eyes shining. “I can’t believe it’s you! I haven’t seen you in ten years!”

Asami pushes a bit of hair behind her ear, feeling oddly self-conscious. It’s been so long, and she’s not sure if their dynamic will still be the same. She hopes it will be. Change is hard.  _ I’m sorry, Opal, for never reaching out to you. Clearly you’ve forgiven me, but have I forgiven myself? _

“When did you transfer back?” she asks Opal, and her voice sounds just as excited as it should be.

Opal grabs Asami’s hand and yanks her through the crowd back in the direction she came from, chattering all the while. “Just a few months ago! This school is so big, I can’t believe we never ran into each other. I’ve made some really great friends, just wait till you meet them. Oh, and here they are now!”

They screech to a stop in front of a lunch table where six other teens are sitting. A heavyset boy arguing with a taller, brooding one, a darker-skinned guy watching the latter attentively, and…

“Hey, Korra,” she says to the athlete, watching her eyes sweep away from her friends and move to Asami. A strange expression flits over her face, there and gone. At this point, Asami isn’t even surprised to see her.

“Just my luck,” she grumbles out loud, but Opal doesn’t seem to notice. She tugs her to the table and sits her down.

“Everyone,” Opal declares, “this is my best friend Asami Sato.” Asami cringes a little bit at her last name, and Korra’s the only one who sees it, although she doesn’t seem to have much of a reaction.

“We were super close in elementary school and then I moved away but I’m back now!” Opal finishes. Asami remembers this side of her, the bubbly, joyful part that Opal only let come out around her friends.

The third boy, with darker skin and bright green eyes not unlike her own, is the first to introduce himself. “I’m Wu,” he says, seizing her hand and shaking it with a flourish, “but you can call me Prince if you like.”

A scoff sounds from the other side of the table, and attention moves to the tallest teen (who still hasn’t really looked at Asami yet, she notes). “Wu, nobody wants to hear your pathetic attempts at flirting,” he says with an eye roll. He turns to her, and she can pinpoint the exact moment he takes her in completely: “I’m Mako -  _ oh _ .”

The last boy punches Mako lightly, who looks dazed. Asami’s seen this look on guys before, and she’s never really been a fan. Fortunately, Bolin’s introduction doesn’t include any dramatic mooning over her looks, though it all makes sense when she sees his hand intertwined with Opal’s under the table.

It’s all a little too much: the rapid-fire icebreakers, the chatter that erupts around her as if Asami’s been part of their group for years and not seconds. If she had to guess, she’d say she’s wearing the same look on her face Mako was a few moments ago.

Korra is the only one who looks unfazed. “Nice of you to join us,” she says and takes a deliberate bite out of her bannock bread.

There’s a reason Asami hasn’t lost interest in Korra (no, not like that) throughout all these years. Although she’s loath to admit it, they play off of each other: her own attention to detail versus Korra’s looking at the bigger picture, hesitation versus cockiness, down-to-earth versus head-in-the-clouds.

_ Maybe in another world, we’d be friends. _

They exchange banter for a few minutes, but it’s clear to both of them that their hearts aren’t in it. Finally, Korra sneaks a furtive glance at Opal and says to Asami, “Can we talk?”

She nods, and Korra stands up and melts into the crowd. Asami is surprised, frankly - she’s never known Korra to be subtle. Irrational worry building inside her, she follows the other girl to a quieter area.  _ The eye of the hurricane, _ she thinks wryly.

Korra is already there when she arrives, leaning against the railing that encloses the lunch area. Her biceps stand out in the bright December sunlight. 

“Listen,” she says without preamble, “We can’t fight anymore.”

Asami has so many replies to that:  _ Why can’t we? It’s not fighting. Excuse me?  _ You’re _ saying we should stop fighting? _

After a few seconds, she responds simply, “What do you mean?”

“I  _ know _ Opal,” is the answer, and Asami thinks sharply that she knows her too, that they were inseparable for three years. “I know that she doesn’t like fighting, and I know she considers me her best friend, and apparently, you’re one too. Plus, we have that duet coming up, and we have to work together if we want to win. I was with Tenzin during one of his meditation sessions, and he was hinting pretty heavily that we have to be nice to each other.”

The years have honed their habit of tiny insults, quiet jabs, and she can barely imagine letting it go. Asami mulls the thought over for a moment, but it really doesn’t take long to decide that her old-turned-new friend is more important.

“You know we can’t stick it out forever. So we stop arguing, just till the duet competition,” Asami proposes. “We’ll worry about Opal after that.” It’s December 3rd. The competition is on the 18th.

“Just a little more than two weeks,” Korra echoes her thoughts.

She’s been trained in business since she was a kid by her father, so old habits die hard. Asami extends a hand to Korra, and the latter takes it. “For Opal,” they say together.

This time, Asami can’t deny the thrill that sweeps through her veins when their fingers intertwine. It almost feels like a letdown when they pull apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you could probably tell, asami's voice is a lot different from korra's; hopefully that wasn't too off-putting. i hope you enjoyed this, and thanks for reading!
> 
> -songbird


	3. allegro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitions:
> 
> bass clef: the lower part of the piano  
> sight-reading: to read and perform music on sight without having to prepare ahead of time. it requires quick reading, critical thinking, and can only be developed over time. my piano teacher considers it one of the fundamental skills of music  
> treble clef: the upper part of the piano

It’s not the doorbell ringing, but the ensuing bubbly chatter and the loud crash from the outside doorstep that scares the holy hell out of Korra. She doesn’t remember inviting any of her friends over, but she thinks she recognizes the voices rising and falling, and she can practically feel her heart sink past her ankles.

She peels herself off of the couch where she was watching  _ The Office _ and walks into the entryway. “Hey, Tenzin,” she greets her piano teacher, trying to disguise her surprise. Outside of her music lessons, he’s a close friend of her family - has been for years. Besides, he’s led her in meditation sessions, and anyone with the patience to wrangle Korra into sitting quietly for half an hour automatically earns the respect of her parents.

She almost questions him about showing up at her house impromptu, but his appearance stops her. The normally-placid man looks anything but now. There’s a hitch in his voice as he yells at his rambunctious children for knocking a potted plant over, and the arrow tattooed on his forehead is shiny with sweat.

Korra opens the door and pauses, unsure what to do. Meelo and Ikki dash past her, the former screeching about something to do with a baby, while Jinora follows calmly. She’s always been too mature for her age.

“Pema went into labor,” Tenzin blurts out. He looks as frazzled as a teenage boy who forgot about the math test next period. “Can you - can you watch the minutes for a few kids? I mean, the kids. For a few minutes. No! Hours, maybe. I’m not sure. It might be a while.”

She would laugh if she didn’t think of his wife’s kind voice then, her surprising sense of humor, the soft swell of her belly that had been growing for the past eight months. “I can do that,” Korra says in a voice she hopes is calming.

Tenzin rakes a hand over his bald head and tugs at his beard. He can’t seem to stop moving, and Korra wonders if she’s infected him with hyper-itis. “Okay,” he says distractedly. “I’ll be off to the hospital then. I need to see Pema. Should it be the other way around? Argh, Korra, what am I saying?”

Frankly, Korra has no idea. She’s never had an adult break down like this in front of her before, but she guesses there’s a first time for everything. “It might not seem like it, but she’s tough as nails,” she tells her piano teacher (her piano teacher?!) in a soothing tone. “She can do this. It’s true, you should be with her, though.”

“I- yeah. You’re right.” He glances around like a squirrel scouting the area for acorns, and when his gaze finds his three children in the living room, he seems to soften a little bit. “Thanks again for this. I’ll see you soon.”

With a brush of air and a slamming of the door, Tenzin’s gone as quickly as he came.

Korra stares at him before another crash from the living room draws her attention. Hurriedly, she replaces the plant in its former upright position and follows the kids in.

Inside, Ikki has laid right down on the ground and Meelo is bouncing on the sofa to heights Korra didn’t know were achievable. She almost wants to join him before she realizes she should probably be following Jinora’s example instead: scolding him.

“You have to calm down, right now! Stop it!” the sixth-grader orders her little brother. Korra can’t do anything but nod halfheartedly along because  _ damn _ that looks  _ fun _ .

“I caaaan’t,” Meelo whines. He bounces again for emphasis. “We’re getting a little brother! Or sister. I can never remember. Ikki, which is it?”

Tenzin’s middle child seizes a pillow and mashes it against her face. “Does it matter?” her muffled voice says.

Jinora kneels next to her younger sister, though she only does it after a threatening glare from Korra, and with visible reluctance. Even Meelo stops bouncing, noticing something’s wrong, and that’s a big statement for a six-year-old. “What’s wrong?” Jinora asks.

“Nothing,” Ikki grumbles. “It doesn’t  _ matter _ because Mom and Dad won’t even  _ care _ about me anymore because they’re getting a  _ new _ kid and-”

She bursts into tears.

Now it’s Jinora’s turn to shoot Korra a loaded look but she was already backing out of the room anyway. She can tell it’s personal, and it’s not her place to butt into family matters.

Honestly, though, she can’t help it if she listens at the door.

“...didn’t stop caring about  _ me _ after they had you, right?” Jinora is saying. “And you, after Meelo? They love us equally, and that won’t change after the baby is born.” A quick breath of silence. Korra can imagine her giving Meelo a meaningful glance. “It’s a boy, by the way.”

“That’s what I thought,” he chirps confidently.

Korra opens the door and walks back in. “Are you all okay?” she asks uncertainly.

Jinora gives her a thumbs-up, Ikki puts the pillow back on the sofa, and Meelo starts jumping again. Korra takes their combined reactions as a yes.

“Do you all want to watch  _ The Office _ with me?” she blurts out. Too late, she realizes that half of the show is probably inappropriate for Meelo and Ikki, but the two of them are already scrambling onto the sofa and sitting attentively like meerkats. Jinora raises an eyebrow at Korra like she’s saying,  _ You got yourself into this. Get yourself out. _ She can barely stand the hint of amusement in her younger friend’s eyes. Korra gives her the stink-eye back.

She grabs the remote and turns the TV back on. For a few minutes, they sit enthralled by  _ The Office _ , Michael and Dwight and the rest of the wacky employees of Dunder Mifflin. It’s not until things start heating up (read: three letter word, starts with ‘s’) that Korra realizes this was probably a bad idea. 

The remote is lying on the table two feet away from Korra. She reaches for it, trying to skip ahead, but Meelo  _ literally _ hisses at her and she jumps back with an alarmed expression. A weight thuds in her chest as she imagines Tenzin yelling at her for “exposing his children to mature content;” spirits, she can feel his anger already.

Then the doorbell rings, and Korra bursts up from the couch and whacks the power button on the remote before the kids can protest. The screen goes dark. Meelo and Ikki erupt in a frustrated chorus, but Korra’s gone already, hightailing it to the door. Maybe it’s Tenzin, a new father of four instead of three, his eyes bright and his strange jitteriness long gone. She’s never been this excited for someone else’s kid.

It’s not Tenzin. It’s Asami.

She thinks the bubble in her chest should burst, but it doesn’t. She forgot all about the duet practice they had scheduled and so the happy little bubble inside her should be deflating right now, maybe with a comedic sound effect, but if anything, it only expands more. Korra feels all weird and fluttery inside. She chalks it up to the kids.

“There are kids here,” Korra tells Asami as they go back into the house. “Tenzin’s kids, actually.”

They walk into the living room and Asami takes a step closer to Korra, as if the children are rabid raccoons and not… well, children. “I’ve never really been a kid person,” she says softly, as if it’s a secret, and Korra’s heart jumps at the tone of her voice.

“Neither have I,” Korra answers, and she feels a smile bubble up to her face. What the  _ hell _ is wrong with her today? Why does she feel like this around this girl?

(The worst part is that this isn’t the first time. At lunch, when Opal decided to drag Asami into their friend group, Korra found herself gravitating toward her. It was just… she looked lonely, almost. It felt like a prize when a grin made it onto Asami’s face, and maybe Korra was the cause of it.)

“...but I am a Meelo-Ikki-Jinora person,” she finishes, trying to wipe out the butterflies in her chest that have apparently decided to materialize.

“Not a kid,” Jinora says distractedly from where she has her nose buried in a book she probably stole off Korra’s family’s bookshelves.

Asami looks like she wants to say something, but she’s interrupted by Meelo vaulting off the sofa like a Olympic freaking athlete and sauntering over to the two older girls. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, beautiful lady,” he tells her and he’s reaching for her hand.

“Meelo!” Korra pushes him away from Asami (lightly, of course; Tenzin would never forgive her otherwise). “No! Please,  _ spirits _ , no. That is  _ way _ too much.”

She looks over at Asami, just to gauge her reaction, and where she expected the other girl to be distraught, she sees a laugh instead, her dark hair shining in the light, and Korra swears her heart skips a beat. Her stupid, irrational, bisexual heart.

But there’s no way she’s attracted to Asami. Not now, not today, not ever.

“Thanks,” Asami wheezes to Meelo between gaspy laughs. She reins herself in a few seconds later and stands up straight. “I’m Asami,” she says formally to the other two children.

No reaction from Ikki, who’s frantically pressing every button on the remote in an effort to get  _ The Office _ back on. (Korra knew this would happen. She unplugged the TV.) Meelo is still staring up at Asami with a literal pinkish blush on his face, and he doesn’t seem to react either at her name.

But Jinora stiffens like somebody’s shoved a meter stick down the back of her shirt, her eyes snapping wide open. “Asami? As in Sato? As in Future Industries, the richest company in Seattle?”

Korra almost thinks she blinked or her eyes malfunctioned or something, but it’s not a mistake. Because Asami, the star student of their school, the person who’s been grappling for the #1 spot in their piano studio for years, just flinched at the sound of her own name.

And now Asami’s looking around almost nervously, as if she’s scared there are people around to listen in on their conversation. “Yeah?” she answers, and it comes out like a question.

So, Korra’s not blind. She knows that a lot of people look up to Asami and respect her or whatever, but she also knows that just as many people will swear angrily at her just for hearing her last name or the company her father owns. She’s not sure what she’d do if she was in that situation - panic, maybe, or hide to avoid anyone from recognizing her. There’s empathy blooming inside her, and she supposes she’ll let it.

Fortunately, Jinora’s one of the good ones. “That’s  _ so _ cool,” she gushes, and then she’s off, rambling about weird engineering stuff that she knows way too much about. Asami starts off with uncertain nods, but those quickly transition to quicker remarks, playful words, scientific jargon that nobody else except Jinora seems to understand.

Korra watches them for a little bit (mostly Jinora, of course, she keeps her eyes off Asami, or maybe she tries to) before remembering why her classmate is here. “We should go practice piano now,” she points out, walking to the room where they keep the instrument, and soft footfalls following her tells that Asami is trotting after her.

They sit down side by side on the piano bench, Korra on the lower end with her powerful, booming bass chords, Asami on the higher one with the delicate melodies dipping in and out of the piece. It’s only been one day since their last practice, but it already feels more natural, like they’re starting to fit together in this little corner of the universe.

_ Spirits, did I get infected by a rom-com or something? _

“Please tell me you practiced.” Asami’s voice brings her back to the present. Her voice is joking, but her expression looks pleading, almost.

“I did,” Korra tells her. It’s the truth. If you count sitting at the piano and banging out ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ for ten minutes as practicing. But it’ll be fine, she thinks. Korra’s always been a good sight-reader, and this piece really shouldn’t be that hard.

Again, they count off and their hands start moving across the black and white. The first few measures are so much smoother than yesterday’s, the bass and treble clefs intertwining seamlessly, like two birds orbiting each other. For a second, a smile threatens to break out over her face. Piano doesn’t make her feel like this often.

They reach the middle of the piece unscathed. Asami almost looks blissful.

The last section is faster, more upbeat. Korra isn’t anticipating any difficulty with this one, but once they enter it, she can feel herself slipping out of control. Some of her notes come too fast, others too slow. Panic wells up inside her, and one of her hands actually starts shaking as it jumps from chord to chord. It’s become less of a marathon and more of a sprint. She can practically feel her fatal mistake coming, the one that jolts them both so badly they won’t be able to continue on. They will fall apart. It will be her fault.

_ Your fault, _ she hears her uncle’s voice say, and she can see his disapproving face burned into her memory.  _ Your fault. Your fault. Your- _

“We made it!” someone cheers from beside her, and Korra looks up to see her hands instinctively floating off the piano and Asami practically celebrating next to her. Her face, with its bright exhilaration, is almost infectious. “Did you  _ hear _ that?”

“Of course I did, I’m sitting right here,” Korra scoffs teasingly, though she feels so very far away.

Seven years ago, Korra’s uncle had moved in with them after his bold financial plan for a start-up business had gone astray, dominated by the bigger and far more powerful Future Industries. She’d been in fifth grade then, old enough to have her own ambitious dreams, young enough to not know how to achieve them. Unalaq had promised to help her build a bridge toward her future. Clearly, it didn’t work out.

It had started off innocently enough: he helped younger Korra practice piano every day, showing her better techniques, playing through songs for her. But there was something darker in him. He urged her to practice more and more, hiding jabs at her skill in saccharine words. She began skipping meals in favor of sitting at the piano and moving her fingers faster, building her technique, honing her ability. At least, that was what Unalaq told her.

It was only two years later that her parents realized the way his influence had been eating away at her, as corrosive and quiet as acid. Korra’s self-esteem had been thoroughly beaten up by her uncle, and she’d lost sight of many of the other parts of her: her heritage in particular, which she’d neglected in favor of piano competitions on the other side of the country until many of her older relatives passed away. Suddenly, she was flailing without any grandparents or great-grandparents to anchor her to her Native American ancestry. Talking to her parents about her roots was something she put off, feeling like they’d judge her for being ignorant or lazy. Korra knew it was irrational - she still knows it - but there’s a fear inside her, silent enough to go unnoticed, insidious enough to keep her awake at night.

Her mother and father kicked Unalaq out of the house. A few months later, he died in a car accident. They grieved for the man he had used to be, not the man he eventually became.

Now, Korra tries to drown the memories of him out with music, her constant safety net. The kids are gone, shuttled away by their uncle Bumi, which means she can play Cardi B as loudly as she wants.

Instead, she turns on a softer tune about growing up, wondering where the simple days went. It lights an ache in her, something less than mournful and more than longing.

Korra doesn’t mean to say it, but it tumbles out of her mouth anyway. She’s decorating the Christmas tree with her parents and she feels the warm weight of a seal skin ornament from her home in her hand, and before she knows it she’s spilled it: “I’m bisexual.”

Her parents exchange glances like married couples always seem to do, having a full conversation with their eyebrows. Korra’s heart pounds so loudly she swears people in Alaska can hear it. Their family is fairly progressive, but she’s still terrified that she’ll be rejected, unwanted, simply because of who she chooses to love.

But a few seconds later, all her worries melt away when they yank her into a bone-crushing hug and whisper tearfully, “We’re so glad you told us.”

She’s crying. They’re crying. They tell her they love her, over and over and over again.

Later that day, Korra gets a text from Tenzin to her and the rest of the students in the studio.  _ Rohan weighs 7.8 lbs, happy and healthy.  _ She has zero idea why he felt like it was necessary for him to tell them this, but his clear joy makes her grin from ear to ear.

Her parents always ask her the same question at dinner, the one that she scripts the answer to ahead of time.  _ How was your day? _ they inquire, every day, without fail.  _ It was fine, _ Korra answers, every day, without fail.

She thinks she knows what she’s going to say today, though.  _ It was pretty good. _

Yeah, it was a really good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm biromantic but also closeted so this whole chapter was still me -jazz hands- pRoJeCtiNg (it ends next chapter i swear)
> 
> the song that korra listens to at the end of the second section about growing up is called 'farther we go' by walk off the earth! you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Duk6PWMpEG8
> 
> (and obviously i still have no idea how to link, if anyone could tell me that'd be great)
> 
> i can't say it enough, but thank you all for reading!! <3
> 
> -songbird


	4. animato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, no definitions for this chapter! this one's a bit of a shorter one because it's sort of a filler, things start picking up in the next

Asami is sleeping in her airy, lonely bedroom, when her phone buzzes at 2:03 AM. She rolls over, trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes, and pushes away the unbearable urge to go back to sleep so she can reach for her phone instead. Because she’s Gen Z. They’re basically plants that photosynthesize from the light of their screens.

When she clicks the screen to turn the phone on, she practically gapes.  _ 64 unread messages, _ her notifications blare. Truthfully, Asami doesn’t have many contacts who text her frequently, so she’ll often have 20 or so messages on a good day. But over 60? In - she scans the timestamps - ten minutes?

She taps into the group chat and scrolls to the top. There are five other numbers in the group chat, most of which haven’t been programmed into her phone. But the last one… it’s a name, not a string of numbers. Asami rubs the last bits of haziness out of her eyes and looks closer and sees  _ Korra _ emblazoned boldly on the screen. She tries to ignore the way her face immediately warms and starts going through the texts.

**_Unknown #1: hi Asami!!! It’s Opal, i stole your number from Korra’s phone earlier today :)_ **

She has to smile at her friend’s hijinks. Opal’s grown, obviously, but it’s clear that she still has the same heart: kind, enthusiastic, passionate about helping other people fit in. She renames “Unknown #1” to Opal and keeps reading, stopping every so often to change the names of the people texting.

**_Opal: welcome to the group chat, where we have two collective brain cells_ **

**_Mako: why are you texting at 2 am please let me sleep_ **

**_Wu: sleep is for the weak_ **

**_Mako: don’t betray me like this wu_ **

**_Bolin: AKLSDKFJDKSJFAL HI ASAMI_ **

**_Mako: ok the capitals are a little too much dude_ **

**_Opal: how are we all awake at this unholy hour_ **

**_Wu: well Korra’s MIA and Asami’s probably sleeping because she has common sense_ **

When Asami reaches the bottom of the chat thread, she’s full-on  _ beaming _ and she has no idea why. (Maybe because she’s never really had a friend, besides Opal. Maybe because in this lonely room, filled with the hazy memory of her mother and her bedtime stories, she feels a little less alone.)

She texts back, her fingers flying over the keys like the trained pianist she is.

**_Asami: Hi, thanks for adding me, but why did you do it at 2 am?_ **

When nobody responds for a few seconds, anxiety bubbles up inside her. She hates, hates, hates the idea of being ignored. It makes her feel like she did something wrong and she has no idea what. Asami follows up with a second, very short text, hoping it will spur someone into sending something back.

**_Asami: Haha_ **

She stares at the unmoving screen for another minute, then huffs and throws it back on the nightstand. The covers on her bed are pulled up again and she closes her eyes for literally six seconds until her phone vibrates three times in quick succession.

**_Opal: omg you text like a guy_ **

**_Bolin: I take offense to that_ **

**_Opal: not you bolin you’re fun to talk to_ **

Asami snatches it back up quicker than a heartbeat.

**_Asami: What did I do?_ **

**_Wu: we gotta teach her_ **

**_Korra: wu has been trained in the art of proper texting_ **

She doesn’t want to admit it, but seeing Korra join the conversation has an instantaneous effect on Asami. Something inside her perks up like a flower being given water.

**_Bolin: HASFLKJDSFLKDSJAFLKJ HI KORRA_ **

**_Mako: the keysmash is getting old bolin we’ve been over this_ **

**_Wu: Haha_ **

**_Korra: ITS INFECTIOUS_ **

**_Korra: but anyways hey asami welcome to the crew_ **

She can’t stop smiling at that.

To be honest, Asami doesn’t know why this is happening to her, why butterflies have decided to take up residence inside her chest. Despite the fact that it’s Korra.  _ Especially _ because of the fact that it’s Korra. She texts back, and the replies come pouring in.

**_Asami: I’m going back to bed_ **

**_Mako: have fun_ **

**_Mako: sleeping_ **

**_Mako: or not sleeping_ **

**_Bolin: what_ **

**_Wu: sweet dreams, lovely lady_ **

**_Bolin: wHAt_ **

**_Bolin: i can’t believe I’M the one who’s gonna say good night like a normal person_ **

**_Korra: gnnnnn_ **

**_Opal: it’s so nice to see that you and Korra are friends, Asami_ **

**_Opal: i think you two are good for each other_ **

Yet another line that Asami doesn’t understand.

The bell rings for lunch again, and Asami snaps her head up like she’s being awakened from a zombie nap or something. The end of second block is certainly always surprising, but never scary, heart-stopping, any adjective of that sort. Maybe because she’d practically fallen asleep in history class, even though the teacher, Bumi, is probably her favorite out of her entire student career.

Maybe because she didn’t get any sleep after the short-lived burst of activity from the group chat she got added to.  _ The group chat. _ Spirits, Asami’s sure normal teenagers don’t get this excited about being roped into a group with a bunch of other phone numbers, but it filled her with buzzing electricity that meant she couldn’t lie still for hours. The smile on her face that she couldn’t tamp down. She didn’t close her eyes for basically the whole night.

Which, of course, means that she’s a yawning mess as she makes her way out of history. Her hair is falling in her eyes, turning her vision into a black-streaked haze, but she somehow manages to swerve through the crowd. Her feet carry her toward the library, her usual spot, but a warm weight on her arm and a gentle tug stop her in her tracks.

“Earth to Asami?” a voice says, and she looks up from her gaze on the ground to see Opal. The other girl brushes her short hair out of her face and steers Asami toward the lunch table she brought her to yesterday. “Wow, you’re really out of it, aren’t you?”

“Not… ‘out of it,’” Asami grumbles. “Just tired, that’s all.”

Opal laughs. “When do you usually go to bed?”

“When I have nothing left to do.”

“I take it all back. You’re basically a grandma. Spirits, my best friend is an old lady.”

A tiny frisson goes up and down Asami’s body. Suddenly, she feels a little more awake.  _ Best friend.  _ Is that really what Opal thinks of her? The person who’s closest to her, the one she laughs with and cries with and basically grows up together with? Asami doesn’t know if she can be that person for somebody else.

She doesn’t even know if she can be there for herself.

“That’s enough angsting,” she says to herself out loud. Thankfully, amidst the loud chatter of the other high schoolers, Opal doesn’t seem to notice.

Asami plops down at the lunch table beside Opal, right across from Korra for the second day in a row. The other four teens glance over at her and wave or smile or punch her in the arm a little too hard (Bolin), but they don’t stop their conversation for her. She appreciates that more than she can say. Sometimes it’s easier just to fade into the background for a little bit. You don’t have to keep up the facade for others.

“Back again, Salami.” Korra frowns at her, but there’s no venom in her voice.

“Did you really expect me to leave?” Asami jokes back. And before she can realize what she’s saying, before she’s thought through her words long enough to slam down a filter on them, she’s repeating Opal’s words last night. “You all are good for me, apparently.”

Korra looks unfazed - she probably saw the message too. What’s really impressive is that she doesn’t bat an eyelash at the subject change. But there is a scattering of darker pink over her cheeks (that Asami tries to ignore; it’s very distracting and very flutter-inducing) as she answers, “I think so too.”

It’s easy to see that neither of them are the rom-com type, but the scene that ensues looks like it could have been pulled straight from one. Asami’s breathing catches as she swallows a sip of water and she makes a funny little noise trying to swallow. Korra looks torn between helping her and looking at the ground in secondhand embarrassment, but she ends up sitting as still as a statue with pink dusted over her face. Their friends carry on chatting and talking, although Bolin does look extremely tempted to whack Asami on the back for a moment.

After the most painful seven seconds of her life, Asami clears her throat. Her voice comes out wobbly, like it always does after she chokes on something, but it’s only now that she realizes it sounds like she’s crying. And oh  _ hell  _ no she will not act tearful in front of the shiny new friends she got approximately 24 hours ago.

She clears her throat again and silently composes herself, drawing on years of etiquette lessons with her dad. It takes every ounce of discipline she’s ever had not to drop her food and duck beneath the table under the guise of retrieving it. “Thank you,” she says to Korra formally. “I appreciate it.”

A flurry of emotions pass over Korra’s face, and Asami can’t help but try to identify them: disconcertion, amusement, and strangely enough, guilt. Then all three are gone so fast she can’t help but wonder if she saw them wrong.

(It’s a thing she might do too often, this analysis of other humans, looking at them like machines and trying to figure them out like so. Really, though, Asami can’t help it if she feels more comfortable in the company of spare parts than people. Some are easy to figure out. Others, like Korra, are harder, she thinks, looking at the other pianist and feeling a completely irrational smile peek onto her face.)

Strange undeserved confidence fills up inside her, and before she can stop to think about it, she looks back at Korra. “But really,” she tells her. “Maybe we can be friends.”

Korra’s smile comes a little lighter this time, her eyes moving more freely back to meet Asami’s. She hates to think about it, the idea of becoming one of those sappy lovesick girls in the Netflix flicks that dominate pop culture, but  _ spirits _ , Korra’s eyes are blue. Blue like the ocean, blue like water shifting, rolling, constantly changing.

She might be a little in love with that blue.

“Yeah,” Korra answers. “We can.”

The rest of lunch goes slowly but smoothly. Asami lets her edges blur into the background chatter of the rest of the table. At one table, she feels her phone buzz in her pocket and pulls it out so fast she almost gets whiplash. It’s from the group chat. Of course.

**_Wu: what do bees make_ **

**_Mako: stupid_ **

**_Mako: honey_ **

**_Wu: well only 1/2 of that answer is sweet but i’ll take it_ **

**_Wu: thanks honey <3_ **

**_Mako: wait no_ **

She laughs out loud. Korra notices it, takes her phone out as well, and laughs too.

When the period ends and the bell cues Asami to start heading to math class, Mako corners her at the edge of the cafeteria. There’s nothing even remotely threatening about him, though. His hands tremble slightly, his voice goes up and down, and his forehead is sheened with sweat. It would be amusing if not for the fact that, even to a relative stranger like Asami, he looks utterly terrified.

So she asks him, “Are you okay?” like something a good friend would do. He gulps and nods and gapes like a fish.

Then words spill from his mouth, almost faster than Asami can understand. “Will you go out with me?”

There is a pulse of agonizing silence. Mako looks like he’s been whacked upside the head with one of her engineering textbooks. And Asami just stares at him,  _ knowing  _ it’s the wrong move,  _ not _ knowing which one is right. She grabs for it, misses. She has no idea what to do.

See, Mako seems like a nice guy, or nice enough, she supposes. Exactly the kind of boy her father would want her to date. But then her thoughts skid to someone else, quick fingers and quicker smiles, a contagious sort of energy, blue so bright it’s almost blinding in its depth.

Asami means to answer something thoughtful, but her voice replies traitorously, “Aren’t you with Wu?”

She has never seen a more violent blush. In her  _ life. _ It’s as if the sunset is exploding across his face in all its rosy glory.

Mako sputters for a moment, then quiets like a broken car. “I’m not,” he gasps when he’s finally able to string together coherent words. “We’re - no. Not like that.”

He forces a laugh, and Asami can see right through it. Immediately, she regrets speaking without thinking. Although she really did think that they were together. She doesn’t miss the way pink colors Mako’s cheeks whenever Wu pats his back jokingly. And it’s obvious to everyone else how Mako is always the first one Wu looks to whenever he tells a joke. Right now, though, judging from the flustered expression on Mako’s face, is probably - definitely - not the right time to bring that up.

“Okay,” she answers, and it comes out sounding skeptical. Not what she wanted, but certainly what she believed. Mako’s stuttered explanation doesn’t convince the smallest part of her of his argument.

He nods once, then twice, then opens his mouth again. Asami braces herself for a vocal trainwreck. “I guess that’s a no? On the date?”

Asami feels like there’s something stuck in her throat, stopping any words from coming out. The cafeteria is almost empty now, all the students having stampeded to their last block of the day. She and Mako are practically the only ones left. Still, she waits until all the people within a twenty foot radius of them have left to answer.

“Yeah, it’s a no,” she says apologetically. “I’m really sorry, but I’m just not interested in you that way.”

Mako exhales heavily. “Okay. Yeah.” He doesn’t say it, but it’s beyond easy to pick up on the unspoken words that hang in the air.  _ That’s what I thought. _

There’s another bit of silence, and then Mako says, “I have to go to class.” He starts walking in, to her horror, the same direction that Asami’s class is located in.

She waves goodbye because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Then she waits until he’s out of sight to follow him, trying to avoid the self-consciousness that she’s certain would come from walking right next to him.

Mako feels like the safe choice, she thinks. He’s exactly the kind of person that her father would want her to get together with. That society would deem acceptable and move on with their lives.

He feels safe. He doesn’t feel right.

Asami looks up at the sky and sees that bright, cloudless blue once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for like the 17th time, i want to thank you all for reading!! the support on this fic is amazing and it makes me smile so hard <33 take care everyone!
> 
> -songbird


	5. legato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a thank you to the user pinaceae, who recommended taylor swift's new album to me and got champagne problems stuck in my head :)

It’s at these times when Korra hates butterfly stroke the most. It’s tiring in basically every way, and she’s already so  _ exhausted _ from finals, and on top of that someone’s shouting-

“It’s snowing!” a freshman boy squeals, bolting out of the pool to mash his face against the window. He practically swoons as he watches the flakes twirl toward the ground. You’d think he’d never seen snow before.

“Hey!” their swim coach barks at him. Her silver hair trails out behind her as she frogmarches him back to the pool. “Practice isn’t over yet. Get back in, kid.”

Korra watches him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. He gasps as he trips into the pool and falls in with a clumsy splash. Water droplets fly through the air, and almost instinctively, Korra dives underwater to avoid them.

She finds herself sinking into teal-tinted bliss. All the yelling from above the water line seems to fade away, becoming quieter, farther, until she almost can’t hear it at all. Down here… it’s  _ peaceful _ . The sunlight ripples across the bottom of the pool floor, dancing sunbeams, shots of golden that flicker like ghostly butterflies.

Korra traces one of them with her foot, wishing she could stay like this forever.

Of course, though, she runs out of air. She surfaces smoothly and just breathes, and she feels calmer than she has in days. Even though there’s the scent of chlorine floating in the air. Even though she can’t get a certain person out of her mind and every time she stays still for two seconds she sees green eyes and dark hair and flashing side-smiles.

Outside, the snow starts falling faster. The freshman clambers out of the pool and dashes over to the window again. Their swim coach just stares at him tiredly. Instead of reprimanding him, she walks over to Korra.

“You know what? You can go if you want.”

Korra looks up, surprised. Sure, Coach Kya is nice enough, but she’s unfailingly strict about rules and priorities. She can’t remember any time they’ve been let go early.

Her words echo her thoughts. “Why is today so special?”

Coach Kya shrugs, but her eyes are far away. “It’s pretty obvious that you all are distracted. And I do have a date later, so I guess I can’t say I’m any different.”

Obviously Korra would never treat an adult she doesn’t know well like this, but her family has been around Kya almost as long as they’ve been around Tenzin. She can’t help but wiggle her eyebrows jokingly. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Almost immediately, Kya’s eyes go distant. Then they refocus, and Korra’s almost a little disappointed. “I really don’t think I should say,” she answers with a light laugh.

(Well, actually, maybe it’s not just disappointment that hits Korra when she hears Kya’s vague answer. It’s possible, just possible, that she sees a little bit of herself right now in Kya too. That detached gaze into the distance? That way her eyes flick from side to side like she’s hoping someone will materialize and hoping she stops hoping soon? Yeah. That’s it.)

Korra heaves herself out of the pool and towels off. “Right. Thanks, Coach. See you-” it’s Friday, she can’t believe she didn’t realize- “Next week?”

“Yeah, yeah, see you then.” Kya waves her off, but Korra knows she doesn’t mean anything by it.

She changes in the locker room and bundles up, but even bracing herself for the cold before she steps out the door doesn’t help. It’s piercingly chilly outside, and the wind cuts her straight to the bone, even under her thick jacket and scarf and whatever that fluffy monstrosity her dad made her wear on her head is called.

Because it’s Seattle in December, and it’s  _ cold. _

Korra shivers her way over to her bicycle, only to find that the snow has effectively buried it. “Stupid,” she mumbles, her teeth chattering as she paws through the white, trying to dig it out. The lack of heat feels like it’s freezing her brain, all her thoughts frosting over and grinding to a halt. She can imagine the sound effects, like a fork being thrown into a dishwasher. Just error noises, over and over.

“Do you need help with that?”

Korra’s brain stops its error noises. She turns around, fingers trembling inside her mittens because there’s  _ snow  _ inside her mittens too, dammit. And of course, as her luck would have it, Asami is standing in the parking lot and staring at her with confused green eyes.

“I biked here this morning,” she says lamely, “but I don’t know how I’m going to get home now.” She stares helplessly at the blue painted vehicle hidden in the snow, searching her brain for ideas and coming up empty-handed.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Asami answers. “I can drive you,” she offers with quiet hesitance in her voice. “I mean, I know where you live.” Instantly, Asami cringes. “I don’t mean that creepily. Obviously. It’s just that I’ve been there and stuff, you know?”

The way she stumbles over her words puts a smile on Korra’s face. She pulls her scarf up to hide it. “I know.”

Asami smiles at her, and Korra literally short-circuits. Can’t think, can’t talk, can barely even breathe. Her face stings with a sudden rush of warmth, and she manages to shape a sentence with her frozen tongue. “Where’s your car? I’m gonna lose a limb to frostbite if we don’t head out soon.”

“Right over there,” Asami answers, pointing. They trudge through the snow, which is falling faster by the minute, and dive into the car. Asami boots it up, turning on the engine, and Korra sighs out loud in relief.

“Thank the spirits, I didn’t know it could be that cold on just December 10th. Feels like January or something.”

“Well, winter starts on the 21st,” Asami points out matter-of-factly, putting her hands on the steering wheel and getting ready to back out of the parking space. “So it’s gonna get a whole lot colder-”

“Wait, hold on a second.” Korra flings open the door and leaps out of the car, to a surprised look from Asami. She races over to her buried bicycle and digs it out like a dog. Hefting it up in her arms, she walks back to the car. The back door opens and Korra tosses her bike in, then darts back inside.

Asami’s smile is warmer than her fancy heated seats. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” she teases, and they high-five each other. The skin-to-skin contact is bright and blazing and Korra almost freezes up as she tucks her hand back into her lap.

As the car navigates through the maze that is the school parking lot, Korra tries to get her heart rate under control. It’s pounding as loud and fast as a steady drum accompaniment. Maybe a timpani. Or a snare.

“So!” Korra says loudly, trying to distract her mind from these… feelings. (She doesn’t know what to call them.) “Have you met my dog Naga?”

Confusion clouds Asami’s face for a second, but it fades away. She keeps her eyes on the road as she replies, “Do you mean your polar bear?”

Korra’s laughter comes so freely it’s a little bit scary. Asami grins and continues. “I haven’t officially met her, but I’ve seen you walking this giant cloud of fluff. Where was she when I came over?”

“Probably out on a walk with my parents. They complain about all the fur on the sofas but they love her too. Secretly.”

“Deep down, I’m sure.”

They don’t often spend time alone without the rest of the crew - it’s been less than a week since Asami was “inducted” into their friend group - but for whatever reason, it’s just so easy for Korra to talk for her. Their conversation flows as if they’ve known each other for their whole lives.

Actually, now that Korra thinks back, they sort of have.

Kindergarten. They’d been in the same class. They hadn’t been friends back then, but Korra remembered how they sat at the same snack table and shared the same crayon box. Fast forward to middle school, where even though their feud had begun to bloom, they were placed next to each other for the science fair and subtly listened to the other speaking.

(Korra hadn’t just watched Asami while she was speaking, actually. She’d watched her fiddle with the gears on her project, watched the brilliant excitement in her green eyes. It’d been a little mesmerizing, actually. That green had pulled her in, held her like a hug. For a moment, she had wished she would never let go.)

“...Korra?”

She startles and jerks back to the present moment. “Yeah?”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

For a moment, Korra wants to fib, wants to paint herself as the person she’s always been painted as. Focused, driven, stubborn, responsible. She almost does it.

She opens her mouth to laugh it off, but strangely enough, all she feels is  _ tired. _ Spirits, what is this doing to her? This rat race, like how she was swimming today? Always racing to catch up with Asami, never caring what happened besides who was holding the trophy at the end of the day? Trying to swim a mile is impossible when you can’t even catch your breath. Everything’s going so fast. All of a sudden, for the first time, she just can’t take it anymore.

“No,” she admits. Crashing relief, like a wave in the ocean finally kissing shore. “I’m just a little burned out, I guess.”

Asami’s expression is impossible to read, but finally she speaks: “Do you have an hour or two? I know just the place.”

They pull up at a Starbucks. The world has mostly stopped spinning around Korra’s head, and she musters enough energy for a snark and a small laugh. “I thought you were too sophisticated for Starbucks, Sato.” It’s the first time she’s said Asami’s last name - she knows how it affects her, she sees how she seems to cringe whenever she hears it.

Korra saying it, though, seems to have a different effect on Asami. The other girl presses her hand to her chest in mock disbelief, adopting a wounded tone of voice. “You can never be too sophisticated for Starbucks, Kalvak.”

They dash inside, trying to avoid the freezing snow that gets under their jackets anyway. Korra is almost tempted to scoop up some from the ground and throw it at Asami, but she refrains. It’s just  _ so _ cliche. But she can’t help but laugh at Asami’s wide-eyed expression when a particularly large snowflake hits her neck, and the other girl laughs too and shoots back some quick remark that Korra doesn’t quite catch. It’s only a twenty-foot walk to the door, but within the span of a heartbeat, of an eternity, Korra feels like she could do this forever.

When the door opens, it jingles so loudly that the other customers turn to look at them. Asami quiets down immediately and turtles inside her jacket. Korra gives them an awkward wave and most of them turn back to their laptops and friends and dates or whatever.

But a few of them whisper to each other and point at Asami -  _ Is that the Sato? Didn’t her father pay his way out of jail? _ \- and the high schooler in question hunches even deeper into her baggy clothing. She shuffles her way over to a table in the corner, and Korra follows, not trying to exchange words with her because she knows Asami’s under enough spotlight already.

Asami sits down at the table with a huff and pulls her hood over her head, even though they’re indoors, even though it gets snow all over the table. “Can you order for me?”

Korra’s nodding before she even registers the action. “Yeah. Yeah. What do you want?”

A heavy sigh puffs out from Asami’s mouth. All her previous energy seems to have evaporated, drained away by the stares of the other Starbucks customers. “Surprise me.”

Korra comes back to the table with two cups of peppermint hot chocolate in hand. She’s keenly aware that it’s probably the most basic thing she could have ordered in the middle of December, but honestly, it brings her back to her childhood. When she was younger, her parents had taken her to the Inuit winter feast, Quviasukvik, every single year. As a kid, the dancing and old-fashioned rituals had been exhausting. They noticed, and every time, without fail, they would buy her a hot chocolate on the way home.

So, yeah. This drink is more than comforting. It’s a portal back to when her biggest pains came from tripping on the sidewalk. When she didn’t have to deal with these pesky romantic feelings that  _ keep _ getting in her  _ head _ .

She sits back down and passes the cup she hasn’t drank from over to Asami, whose eyes basically light up. “Oh, spirits, please tell me there’s caffeine in this.”  
Korra laughs. “Yeah, it’s just for you. Please don’t drink the whole thing in one sip though.”

Asami is halfway through drinking the whole thing in one sip. She puts the cup down and sighs in relief. “Even the  _ idea _ of ingesting caffeine is comforting at this point.”

Looking closer, Korra notices the dark circles under her eyes, how her fingers grip her cup like a life raft. Back then, when Asami was her “rival” and only accessible through glares shot while the teacher’s back was turned, Korra wouldn’t have dreamed of saying this. But she throws the words out now, hoping they land. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Asami answers immediately, then looks like she regrets it. “I’m just tired, with finals and all.”

Korra treads cautiously. She’s not sure why she’s prying but she  _ wants _ to know, can’t see that brittle expression on Asami’s face anymore. “I know this is weird, since we haven’t really been friends for a while-”  _ are we friends at all? _ \- “but you can talk to me.”

“I…” Asami begins. Trails off. There’s a war on her face, the kind that’s quiet and painful, the ones that you suffer through in silence because the thoughts in your head are already too damn loud.

A few seconds later, her words tumble out in a rush. “It’s just that things haven’t been the same since my mom died, and I don’t want to be the kid who carries their childhood trauma around for their whole life, you know? But I don’t know how to get over it either because the only person who had to deal with it besides me was my dad, and he’s literally the CEO of the biggest company in the city.”

Asami pauses for breath, and Korra thinks she’s done but she keeps rambling. “And he never pays attention to me, no matter how much I succeed at everything I do. So I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, like ever. It’s just…” Her eyes are dry, but Korra sees a determined look in them, like she’d keep fighting even if the world fell apart around her. “It’s just too much sometimes.”

She sits stonily still for a second, then winces and runs a hand through her dark hair. “Oh, spirits, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry for dumping all of my issues on you.”

If Asami was just a friend, Korra would have done something impulsive, like a surprisingly-wholesome joke or taken her to someplace she loves. But Asami’s not just a friend at this point. She’s less. She’s more.

Korra reaches out and lets her hand cover Asami’s for a moment. “I’m here for you, whatever you want to do. So you can keep talking about it, or you can… I don’t know. But I’m here.”

In movies, this is supposed to be the big cinematic moment, where they realize they’re in love with each other. There’s supposed to be a swell of music, a lean-in, the brushing of lips.

In real life, nothing of the sort happens. Asami just smiles at her, and Korra smiles back and her heart feels so full she hears music in her head. A full orchestra. Colors explode behind her eyelids, inside the most intimate parts of her brain.

She’s never seen a green so bright.

“Thank you. So much. If you want to vent to me…” Asami shrugs, but the sentiment is crystal-clear.

Korra takes another sip of her hot chocolate and answers, “Our situations are different, but I guess I can kind of relate to you. My uncle taught me that success and winning was the key to happiness, and I still can’t shake it. Sometimes I find myself with the medal around my neck or the ribbon on my wall and… I don’t know. It doesn’t make me happy. But I just don’t know what does.”

This time, it’s Asami who reaches out and squeezes Korra’s hand, light as a feather. Her throat goes desert-dry. “If we really are friends-”

“We are,” Korra confirms immediately. The words feel like a candle burning bright inside her chest, lighting her up yellow and orange and gold.

(But all fire has to burn out at some point. For a split second, she wonders how long they’re going to last before they burn out, too. And then she pushes it out of her mind because she is here, right now, and this feels like a dream.)

“Because we’re friends,” Asami amends, and Korra hopes she’s imagining the tremble in the other girl’s voice, “we’ll figure out all our problems together. I know it.”

_ We’ll try our best. _

It’s only been a few days, and Korra hasn’t ever been this close to anyone before.

They laugh and talk and drink their hot chocolates until the snow stops falling and they are left in a world blanketed in gentle white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fjsdklafj we are halfway through folks!! i'm a little behind schedule but i'm still hoping to get this done by christmas! thank you for reading <3
> 
> -songbird


	6. morendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is shorter because i don't like writing them fighting :( but it has to be done i suppose lmao
> 
> i'm fully aware that the scenario set up here might not be realistic and i'm sorry for that rip - the events of this chapter had to happen though
> 
> definitions:  
> pedaling: most real pianos have three pedals at the base, where pianists can operate them by pressing down with their foot. the one used most often, and in this fic, is the rightmost one called the damper pedal. it can extend and connect notes, but only if used right. typically, the person who pedals in a duet is the person on the lower end of the piano.
> 
> general recital notes/etiquette:  
> *many of the ones i've participated in are held in churches  
> *there are often multiple judges. in this fic, there are two  
> *building on that, the competition in this fic is multi-layered. this is the qualification round, and if people do well enough, they can progress on to the next stage! the ultimate reward is something cool i guess idk  
> *audiences applaud when performers walk on stage, and again when they finish
> 
> that's about it, i think! i've been playing for a while so i take a lot of this for granted - let me know if you're confused on anything, and i'll be sure to clear that up!

Being in someone else’s bedroom is a strangely intimate experience.

“Are you sure about this?” Asami hovers in the doorway of Korra’s bedroom, her eyebrows furrowed nervously. “It’s the day before the competition, the 17th, shouldn’t we be practicing instead of… er, listening to Dotify?”

The owner of the bedroom in question sits up with a bright smile on her face. “It’s Spotify, Asami.  _ Spotify.  _ For someone who’s planning on majoring in engineering, you really don’t know much about technology, do you?”

Asami sidesteps the question, blushing slightly. “Do you think we’re ready? I’ve been practicing this every day for like 45 minutes. Is that enough? Maybe you should go practice too. We have to win the competition so that-” She stops short, realizing she probably shouldn’t finish that sentence.

Because, yeah, maybe her motives are a little selfish. Not just the ones for piano, but the ones for making friends too.

“It’s  _ fine _ , I’ve practiced enough already.” Korra pats the empty space on her bed, which is half-covered by rumpled blue blankets. “Come on! I have to show you something.”

Begrudgingly, Asami walks over and sits down gingerly. Korra’s room is a kind of messy that she isn’t used to in any way - books and jackets scattered across the floorboards, a mixture of TV posters and family pictures taped haphazardly to the walls. It makes her feel a little bit like a fish out of water, but it’s also strangely comforting in a way. People can be imperfect. People’s rooms aren’t spotless.

People -  _ like me _ \- like -  _ love _ \- them in spite of it -  _ because of it _ .

Korra unlocks her phone and opens Spotify. “Do you listen to music?”

“Classical, sometimes? Mozart is good. Debussy too.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Korra smacks herself in the face, multiple times. “I have to show you true culture.”

She opens a song with an almost ethereal beginning, which gives way to guitar and vocals. The singer comes in with gentle, yearning vocals, lyrics about hanging on to someone’s every word, feeling like real life is a movie with this person. It’s romantic, it’s thoughtful. It makes her heart ache.

They sit awash in music, listening to the song as it plays out. Asami knows she should be watching the music video, but her gaze is on the only other person in the room instead. Korra’s eyes are closed and her foot is tapping along to the beat, a smile curving across her face. She looks like there’s nowhere she would rather be than where she is right now.

The song fades out, and Korra looks at Asami. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” she replies, looking back at Korra. “It was beautiful.”

The day of the competition, Asami skids to a stop in front of Korra’s house, her normally-controlled driving more jerky than usual. The recital setting is about half an hour away, and they’ve set up extra time just in case something goes wrong, which means there’s still about an hour until they perform. Nevertheless, her heart is thumping like a wild rabbit in her chest, and she feels a little light-headed.

She knocks on the door and Korra’s mother answers. Senna waves at Asami with a placid smile on her face, then bellows over her shoulder, “Korra! Your… friend’s here.” The hesitation in the middle of her sentence speaks volumes. Asami almost wants to tell her otherwise.

Korra crashes down the stairs, yelling for her father to bring her something, and another shout in reply echoes from the other side of the house. Her mother rolls her eyes and throws a jacket at Korra, which she snatches out of the air easily. She races to the doorway and pauses in front of Asami, panting. “I’m… ready now.”

Asami raises her eyebrows in amusement, but she lets Korra into the car and starts the engine. She didn’t think it was possible, but being in close proximity with Korra has made her even more flustered. She almost puts the car into the wrong mode as she tries to back out of the driveway, and it shudders as she frantically pulls the switch back.

It’s pretty obvious when Korra notices. “Are you good? We’ll be fine, we’ve been practicing for a while.”

“I guess we are pretty advanced,” Asami hedges. The knot in her stomach loosens ever-so-slightly. “I just feel like I have to do this right.”  _ For my mother. For my father. _

_ For me. _

The car trundles along the side street and turns onto the main one. Asami’s fingers drum rhythmically on the steering wheel. The mood is unexpectedly somber, although maybe it’s always like this before a competition. Asami wouldn’t know. A lot of Tenzin’s students hang out together, but she’s never really been close to any of them until now.

It’s a few more minutes until Korra speaks. “We will,” she says, and then adds in a softer voice, “we have to.”

The bathroom’s tiles are suspiciously yellow. Asami feels uncomfortable and prickly as she pulls her dress on, because as much as she hates dirty bathrooms, she hates dressing up for piano recitals more. Of course she likes feeling pretty, but there’s something about intentionally wearing a dress to something as terrifying as a recital, in front of dozens of strangers, judging you with their judgy eyes. Like a lamb to the slaughter. It hurts even more when people with especially inappropriate tendencies let their gazes wander to places on Asami’s body that they really shouldn’t be.

She zips up the back of her dress, runs her fingers through her hair one last time, then walks out of the (gross) bathroom and into the church. She stands in the middle of the pews in front of her assigned seat, feeling a little lost. For the record, she hadn’t been expecting this kind of venue, but apparently this competition was a pretty big one and they had wanted the setting to be just as big. The arcing rafters and swirls of stained glass on the back wall are pretty intimidating.

Korra appears next to Asami. “How are -  _ oh. _ ” Her eyes sweep over Asami’s body softly for a moment, the dark red dress, the subtle sequins woven into the second layer of fabric. Normally, Asami would be annoyed, but something about the fact that it’s Korra makes it okay.

A twinge of amusement distracts her for a second. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she teases Korra, and she means it. She doesn’t often see the swimmer dressed up like this, but the navy blue dress with short ruffled sleeves sets off Korra’s dark hair and her striking eyes and- nope. Can’t think about that.

“Thank you,” Korra says sincerely. She sits down on the edge of the raised platform the piano is on, swinging her legs like an elementary schooler. “Not gonna lie, I’m feeling a little nervous too. I just really want to qualify for the next round in this competition, and I don’t want to fail now.”

“Really? After all that talk about being good at piano?”

Korra looks like she’s chewing on something, and her forehead does that thing where it wrinkles and her eyes go squinty with indecision. (Mentally, Asami feels her breath flutter, then berates herself for letting it flutter.)

The silence stretches into something heavy, a gag on both their mouths. Every second that passes electrifies Asami more, and she has to fight the urge to touch Korra’s hand  _ and _ the urge to run out of the church like her dress is on fire.

Then, finally, Korra speaks. Her words are like a stone sinking into a pond.

“I haven’t practiced that much for this competition,” Korra admits sheepishly.

Asami can’t deny the sensation of her stomach sinking. She tries to fight it. “How much is ‘not that much?’”

“Okay, listen,” Korra immediately begins, and she sounds defensive and that’s never a good sign. “I felt pretty confident, and honestly I’m not feeling it anymore, but maybe around ten minutes a day?”

Before she knows it, Asami’s on her feet, clear distress on her face that she’s trying and failing to hide. “Korra, you know ten minutes isn’t nearly enough for a piece of this size, okay? You need to- I’ve been practicing for forty minutes a day, and-”

Korra holds up her hands. “Look, I’m sorry, but it is what it is now. That’s how much I practiced, and all we can do now is just perform and hope for the best.”

Asami stops, puts her hands on her hips. A breathless scoff escapes from her mouth. “Hope for the best? Come on, we  _ had _ to win this, but there’s basically no chance now because of you and your slacking.”

“Hey! That’s not fair.” Korra’s mouth is curved in a frown and Asami tries to ignore how her chest stings, as if someone’s stabbing tiny needles with every indignant word that comes out of either of their mouths. “I  _ am _ a good player. I’ve won a ton of competitions.”

Anger boils inside Asami, strange, uncharacteristic anger that she doesn’t know how to handle besides simply letting it spill. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Beating everyone else? Maybe that’s why you didn’t even try on the  _ one _ group project we have to do. Because we’re on a team, and you’re such a ‘lone wolf.’ Because you don’t care about me, only yourself. You just want to win.” She draws sarcastic air quotes around the earlier phrase, ignoring the pain building in her head.

“Shut up,” Korra whispers, then louder. “Shut  _ up. _ ”

There are other students filtering into the church now and taking their seats in the pews. Most of them are younger. They stare with wide eyes at the two fighting teenagers in the front. Asami knows they’re scared, but her usual empathy has evaporated. She feels cold and hot, freezing and on fire. She hates arguing and yet it’s all she can do right now.

Korra continues. “You know, I thought we could be friends. I really thought.” She gives an incredulous laugh, and it’s frosty and far-away. Then she looks back at Asami, and the tears brimming in her eyes awaken Asami to her own. “Did  _ you  _ ever want to? Why were we worth it?”

She doesn’t mean for the words to come out of her mouth. But people do strange things when they’re angry, and Asami isn’t any different. Of course she isn’t. “I just wanted to show my dad that  _ I _ was good enough for him,” she says scathingly. “In the grand scheme of things, you never mattered.”

Hurt splashes across Korra’s face, as bright and obvious as blood. Asami feels a tear slip down her cheek and she wipes it away.

One of the two judges of the competition looks between the two of them. “Sit down, please,” he says, and his calmness makes Asami want to punch something. “We’re going to get started.”

It’s only now that Asami notices the dozens of gazes pinned to her. She walks back to her seat and sits down. Korra follows a few seconds later, her face completely blank.

Even when the first duet begins to play, Asami can barely hear the music.

Where did they go wrong?

There’s three groups left until Asami and Korra perform. The judges are in the back of the room, scratching down their comments on the papers that decide who wins and who goes home with all the doors closed. She’s usually nervous at this point, but right now, she just feels empty. Dizzy. Like she’s about to float away.

She sneaks a glance at Korra, who’s staring determinedly at the front of the room. After spending years tracking her skills, the only sign Asami can see of her distress is the way she’s clenching her hands, the fingers knit closely together. She wants to pull them apart. She wants to say sorry.

Two groups left.

She messed up. She messed up  _ bad. _ Asami knows those words stung: they left marks on the way out of her mouth, and she doesn’t think those scars will be healing over any time soon. But what she hates about herself is that she meant them. Korra didn’t try. She never tries. She just- just relies on her skill to coast through life,  _ certain _ that other people will be there for her. To help her along, to boost her up at their own expense. A luxury that Asami’s never experienced.

It doesn’t make up for what she said. The words she spoke are like acid: burning and hurtful and sizzling long after they’ve been poured out, but deep down, their chemical formula makes sense. They are true. They hurt her like nothing has hurt her before.

One group left.

The clapping from the audience when she and Korra walk on stage is far away, as if she’s underwater and moving in slow-motion. They lower their hands to the keys in sync, and the first section starts off smoothly enough. Asami doesn’t feel that click that she usually does when she’s playing with Korra: things are right, but they’re not good. Far from good.

She closes her eyes for a moment and prays that they’ll make it to the end. For a moment, it looks possible as they hold the rest at the end of the first half for the same amount of time. Asami sees the light at the end of the tunnel and she reaches for it like a drowning person. But it’s in vain.

As soon as they reach the faster section of the piece, it all falls apart.

Korra keeps hitting the wrong notes in her chords, and her pedaling is erratic, cutting some notes too short and others too long. Asami tries to keep up, but it’s a losing battle. Her fingers skitter like panicked beetles over the floor, touching the wrong keys everywhere they go. She’s quickly losing sense of the rhythm they’re supposed to be playing. It’s a horrific sensation, as if the world is sliding out from beneath her and she can’t do anything but watch. Their song is careening out of control, hopelessly off-key, painfully off-beat.

Somehow, they limp to the end and pull their hands away from the piano at the same time. The audience looks stunned, but they force out a few claps. Their applause is even weaker than the one they made when the two seven-year-olds sat on the wrong sides of the piano. Asami would rather have the earth crack open from under her feet and swallow her up than be standing here right now.

“We will notify the winners tonight,” one of the judges says. Her dark brown hair swings in front of her face as she sits down, and the tall bald man next to her brushes it out of her eyes and laughs. Asami finds a fierce ache in her chest for what she used to have, what she could have had.

She turns to Korra, but the words die on her tongue. Together, they walk out of the church and step into Asami’s car silently. It’s almost funny how well they communicate, even when they’re broken like this.

The drive home is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kataang cameo at the end?? perhaps???
> 
> the song korra and asami listen to is called 'the movies' by nightly: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKkx7G75y0E
> 
> on another note, what the FRICK this has 1000 hits??! thank you all so much for the support on this!! i really really appreciate it, thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> -songbird


	7. lontano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me having a complete mood swing in the middle of writing this (you can definitely see the tone change too)

Korra rests her chin against the car door and looks out the window, watching the Seattle rain fall lightly against the metal. Although it’s almost completely dark out, it being ten at night and all, she can’t see the stars. Too much light pollution from the buildings scattered around the near-empty highway. Too many skyscrapers, not enough sky.

The thought sounds like something Asami would say in one of her contemplative moods, the ones where she looks out the window just like Korra, wistfulness in her eyes. Except Korra feels more than wistful right now. She’s angry and hurt and sad and frustrated, even six days after the big blowup. Honestly, she can’t figure out what she is.

Korra hasn’t reached out to Asami since their argument. Their fight. Whatever she calls it, it stirs up a churning, uncomfortable feeling in her chest. On one hand, she wants to apologize, but on the other hand, Asami’s words still sting (even if she didn’t mean them). Either way, she wouldn’t know what to say to the other girl.

She looks forward, where her parents are giggling like lovesick teenagers from their seats in the front. Her mother catches Korra’s eye in the rearview mirror and proceeds to  _ blush _ at something her father says in a low, joking voice. Korra almost wants to gag.

Her parents are always like this on the way back from Quviasukvik. It’s Christmas Eve, the first day of the traditional Inuit celebration, and the day her family drives for an hour to gather with other people who observe the holiday every year. The masses and dances are a little exhausting for her. She never knows if her parents notice.

Senna and Tonraq moved away from their original home, a town in Alaska, over two decades ago. Since then, they’ve adapted to life in Seattle pretty well, integrating the city’s traditions with their own heritage. But Korra knows they miss their home, even if they try to hide it. Quviasukvik anchors them, in a way; to their dead relatives, to the culture they never experience in Seattle anymore. They’re a minority. Korra knows it.

Her father glances back over his shoulder at Korra, sitting alone in the backseat. It makes her feel like a little kid. “Do you want to get hot chocolate again?” he asks. There’s a teasing note in his voice, but she can tell he means it. “You know, for old times’ sake.”

Huh. Maybe her parents do notice.

Korra feels the word ‘yes’ on her tongue, a warm, comforting weight that brings her back to when she was a little kid too. Driving home from that very celebration, on this very road, talking with these very people. Back then, she didn’t have to worry about piano competitions or dramatic fights with maybe-sort-of-friends.

And now she’s thinking of a snowy afternoon spent holed up at Starbucks with said maybe-sort-of-friend. She feels the warmth of a hot chocolate between her hands, the taste of a laugh on her tongue, her blue eyes drawn irresistibly to green ones like stars swirling around each other, caught in orbit, the only thing keeping her from spiraling out into space. The only thing locking her in place.

“Korra?” her dad prods. He looks a little worried, and with a stab of guilt, Korra thinks of Asami again. She can’t not think about her.

“No thanks,” she answers, trying to keep her voice normal. She wonders if she should justify her answer, but when she can’t think of anything to say, she stays silent.

In the two front seats, her mother looks at her father, and her father looks at her mother, and they have a whole damn conversation without even saying a word.  _ They could be a killer piano duo _ , Korra thinks dryly.

It’s a bolt out of the blue when her mother turns around and says plainly, “Are you okay?”

_ No, _ she almost says.  _ I can’t stop thinking about the girl I might have fallen in love with. I never told you this, but we argued six days ago and her words still sting. That’s why we lost the piano competition, _ she almost says. Almost confesses.

In real life, she forces a smile and says, “Of course. It’s Christmas Eve,” like that’s supposed to mean anything.

Her mother reaches over to cover Korra’s hand and her father says something comforting from the driver’s seat. “If there’s anything going on, you just tell us, okay?” Senna says quietly, love and worry battling it out in her eyes.

_ Do I try?  _ Korra almost asks.  _ Or do I depend on other people to get me to success? What do I do when I fight with my friend? What do I do when she’s the only person I want to talk to, and the only person I don’t want to talk to? What happens when I fight with the person I may or may not love? _

“Of course,” she says instead. Because almost is almost, and it’s never quite enough.

She’d only been 10 when her uncle had arrived. Impressionable, energetic, the perfect age for being swayed forever by the right person at the right time. Or maybe the wrong person at the wrong time.  _ The right wrong person? _ she thinks dispassionately.

Two years of her life, two whole years, instantly sucked into Unalaq’s dark whirlpool. Korra had competed and practiced until she didn’t know how to do much else. How to hang out with friends, how to enjoy time with family. How to be happy.

First place. Golden trophies. Blue ribbons. They line the walls and bookshelves of her room, on proud display for anyone who cares enough to look. But why didn’t they? Why did Korra work so hard to win, and why did nobody even care?

The answer is a gentle anchor, tugging at her brain.  _ They’re okay with losing. _

Korra bolts upright in her backseat, jolted awake from her half-sleep. In the front, her mother has dozed off entirely and her father has drowsy eyes fixated on the road. It’s 1 am and she should be asleep but she can’t, can’t, can’t, feels her body buzzing with electricity and the energy of an epiphany.

_ They’re okay with losing. _

She’s ready to bet that they never had a controlling uncle who drummed into their heads that winning is the only thing worth doing. Never lost a competition and cried and sulked for days. Korra never had that kind of discipline. 

Maybe it’s time she starts learning.

Christmas Day dawns bright and cheerful, but all Korra feels is cold.

She sits around the tree tearing into presents with her parents, wrapping paper floating all around the room and settling on the floor like colorful snow. Their massive white dog Naga races around them, bumping into the walls, barking like her life depends on it, and just generally being chaotic. The living room is filled with excited shouts, even though it’s only the three of them - “Who got me this? I’ve been wanting it for ages!” “Korra, you shouldn’t have, this looks really expensive…” “Oh, you bet I’m going to be using this soon!”

That last one was Korra, trying to sound deliriously happy like her parents. And failing, obviously. Despite the presents scattered around the tree, her crooked smile doesn’t come easily to her mouth. Everything that’s on her mind weighs so heavily she doesn’t think she could express herself if she tried. She absentmindedly pets Naga on the head, a muscle habit she’s formed over the years of having her, and is rewarded with a booming bark in return.

As soon as they finish unwrapping all the presents and Naga finally lays down on the paper-covered ground, Senna turns to Korra. “Do you want to prepare lunch with us?”

Normally, Korra would say yes, jump at the opportunity to help her parents on the happiest day of the year. But today, her thoughts are clouded with red dresses, green eyes, bitter words spat from a broken mouth. Even after the insults, the fight, she can’t bear thinking of Asami down. She wonders if this is empathy or love or somewhere in between.

If it’s  _ love. _

Korra pauses, and her mouth hangs open a little bit.

She said it. Granted, she said it to herself, but the word had come into her mind unbidden. Perfectly, scarily, she rolls it around inside her mouth. It feels right.

Then she almost wants to cry because her relationship with the girl she loves (a choir goes off in her head at the last word) is broken, damaged, twisted just by a few fateful minutes. Suddenly, all she wants to do is be alone.

“Maybe later,” she answers her mother in a choked voice. Her father and Naga look over too, and all three of them look like they want to object in confusion, but Korra cuts them off before they can even say anything. “Can I just be alone for a few minutes?” she half-pleads, echoing her own thoughts.

She flees into her room and closes the door. It doesn’t slam, but the noise it makes is just as resounding.

Lying on her bed, alone, Korra’s thoughts are louder than anything else.

Some of Asami’s words are true. She knows that much. Last night, drunk on adrenaline and the lack of sleep, Korra had come to terms with her own crippling flaw. ( _ Spirits, is this a Percy Jackson book or something? _ she quips to herself, before realizing there’s no one else around to laugh at it.) She can acknowledge that she screwed up on the practice end of it. Maybe if she’d put in more work, they could have done better.

The realization comes with no bitterness - simply a straight, solid fact that expands in Korra’s mind. For a moment, she almost feels better, good enough to bolt downstairs and jump into cooking lunch with her parents. Because they won’t hate her for losing. They’re there to support her, constant, steady, loving hands behind her, ready to catch her whenever she falls.

Then she remembers Asami’s other words,  _ you never mattered,  _ you _ never mattered, YOU _ \- and Korra feels like she’s been kicked in the gut. She’s tried to matter, always tried to matter, been energetic and social and brought smiles to other people’s faces. Maybe Asami didn’t mean it. Maybe it was a moment of weakness, a slip-up that reverberates days, weeks, months into the future. Spirits know Korra’s had enough of those.

Either way, though, it still hurts more than she can really describe.

From downstairs, the doorbell rings. She can hear the faint sound of the door opening, cold December wind whooshing outside, her parents’ enthusiastic greetings Korra’s curiosity is mildly piqued, but it quickly dissipates when she hears the loud chatter of younger kids, and once again, something (or maybe someone) falling over. Tenzin’s brood. Of course.

Their footsteps grow louder and louder as they approach her bedroom. Korra sits up straight and tries to smooth her mussed hair, although as soon as the three of them tumble in, she realizes there was literally no point because they look even worse than her.

Ikki vaults onto her bed like a professional freaking gymnast, and Meelo follows, undeterred in the slightest when he nearly falls off. Jinora is a bit more sedate, but her hair is flecked with the snow that’s falling steadily outside, and her eyes are bright and windswept. She tosses a small bag onto Korra’s bed, smaller presents peeking out from inside.

“Happy holidays,” they say, their voices tripping and cascading over each other like enthusiastic dogs. They aren’t in sync at all and it’s not exactly an angelic choir, but it makes Korra smile so hard her mouth hurts anyway.

She kicks her legs out and folds her arms behind her head, a practiced position she shifts into to distract herself from the fading grin. “What are you all up to today?”

Ikki looks desperate to join the conversation, even though it hasn’t really started yet. “Later we have to go to our grandpa’s annual ‘party.’” She puts air quotes around the last word. “Most of it is just people playing piano because they were hired to and adults standing around talking about  _ boring _ stuff. The only part I go for is the food-”

“We already opened our presents!” Meelo interrupts. He goes off on a tangent, his mouth spitting out words faster, Korra thinks, than his brain can filter.

Jinora, ever the mature one, looks closer at Korra. Her deep brown eyes sweep over the older girl’s tense posture, the clench of her jaw, but the only thing she says is, “Are you okay?”

Korra bites her lip, intending to stay quiet, but there’s something in the way the kids are looking at her. Bright-eyed, their gazes steady and hopeful, as if they’re expecting something more than just presents. Even Meelo has quieted. She finds that she really doesn’t want to let them down.

“Just some friend drama,” she fibs, trying to stay vague. Asami’s not exactly just a friend, and it’s not exactly just a little drama, but she thinks it’s really the closest she can get to the truth without breaking down in front of her piano teacher’s kids.

Jinora looks like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “That can’t be all,” she says keenly, “judging from the fact that you’re moping here  _ alone _ on  _ Christmas _ .”

“I am not moping,” Korra protests instinctively, then heaves a sigh when Ikki and Meelo look at her with questioning stares. “Alright, alright. It was a pretty big blowup, I guess, and I feel like I’ve lost a friend. Or someone that could have been a friend. Or more than a friend.” She throws her hands up in the air and groans, frustrated at how heavy her words feel, as if speaking is trying to fit a round peg in a square hole. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

Surprisingly, Meelo is the one who speaks up. “Well,  _ I _ have a lot of friends,” he declares, and Ikki looks like she wants to gag. He pushes on. “And  _ I _ think you should talk to her. That’s the only way you can fix this: conumication.”

Ikki stomps her foot, not seeming to realize that it doesn’t make a sound against the bedsheets. “That’s not how you say it!”

“Well, how  _ do _ you say it?”

Jinora cuts their bickering off. “For the first time in his life, Meelo’s right. You really should talk to… her.”

The last word in her sentence sounds very deliberate. Korra realizes, belatedly, that Jinora and Meelo know exactly who they’re talking about.

“Thanks,” she breathes. She means it.

Ikki claps her hands, effectively shattering the silence. “Korra! Did I tell you about the kite Mom got us? Dad just bought a bunch of boring books and he said they were good for ‘character development.’ But we’re gonna go out and fly the kite later, maybe at…”

Korra’s brain is spinning too quickly to focus on Ikki’s words, so she just nods and smiles and throws in a “Cool” every so often. Her thoughts are far away, formulating an idea, a plan. A promise. 

To get someone back, to find someone anew. Their relationship might be fractured, and both of them are at fault, but maybe she can put the pieces back together again.

She doesn’t even know she’s drifted off until Ikki yells indignantly, “ _ Korra! _ Are you even listening to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your continued interest! your support is what keeps me - maybe not writing, since i've had this idea floating around for a while - but updating so frequently. i'm on winter break for the next few weeks so i'll try uploading every other day! stay safe y'all
> 
> -songbird


	8. cantabile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> motif - a musical theme that repeats multiple times throughout one composition

Their Christmases have always been sedate and poised and everything Asami once aspired to be. This year is no different.

_ There’s a rhythm to it, _ her mother had joked at dinner six years ago, her words still glowing bright in Asami’s mind.  _ We open presents one at a time. We talk calmly about the gift. Your father wouldn’t have it any other way, would he? _

Hiroshi had folded his arms and glared, but it wasn’t a true glare. He hadn’t learned how to be cold until after her mother died.  _ It’s called politeness, Yasuko, as if you would know anything about that. _

Asami’s mother had talked over him with a superior smile on her face.  _ Why don’t we change that during Christmas this year, hm? _ she’d asked her daughter, who had nodded yes, please, I don’t think Dad understands how kids want to have fun.

Of course, Yasuko hadn’t made it to that Christmas. Or any after that.

And nothing changed, not the distance or the aloofness, just like her life. She went to school and her father went to work and they were twin parallel lines, close enough to see each other, but on courses far enough apart so they would never touch, never again.

Now, Asami sits at a table with her father in front of their sparsely-decorated Christmas tree, unwrapping presents from each of their piles slowly and carefully. Every once in a while, one of them will look up and exchange a cautious smile with the other. She can’t help but think that her mother would have hated every second of it.

After they finish, Asami rests her gaze on her respectable pile of presents. Sometimes she wonders if her father thinks that all she wants is money. Looking at what he’s given her - which includes a very expensive-looking necklace - he actually might.

She shouldn’t complain. Mako and Bolin used to be  _ homeless _ , for spirits’ sake. Compared to their rough start as orphans on the streets, she’s so privileged it’s almost funny. Living in this massive mansion, poised to inherit one of the city’s biggest companies… yep. She’s pretty well-off. But even though she tries to convince herself that everything is fine, even better than fine, something keeps itching at the back of her brain, and she can’t quite shake it.

Wide blue eyes, words less angry than hurt beyond measure. Korra had messed up, sure, but she hadn’t deserved what Asami had said.  _ You never mattered. _

Her hands still over the wrapping paper.

_ Korra _ , her brain sings and sobs and almost pleads. She’s the repeating motif that twines through all of her thoughts, distracting and beautiful and  _ so _ hard to ignore.

Hiroshi hasn’t talked about the competition for more than twenty seconds to her since the day of, but his disappointment is clear. When the evening had come and gone with no congratulatory email, he’d looked at her and asked, “What did you do wrong?” He sighs and shakes his head whenever Asami gets within five feet of the piano. Whenever he mentions anything related to music or winning, either one of the two, his gaze wanders to her and he frowns, the smallest expression that’s probably embedded into her mind forever at this point.

She stands up abruptly. Her father gives her an odd glance, but he must see the guilt and frustration warring on her face, because his own only looks bemused. It’s his go-to reaction whenever Asami wears her heart on her sleeve - which isn’t very often around him, honestly. He just looks so  _ confused _ whenever she wants to say something, maybe even a little bit lost, like her emotions are some strange puzzle that even his 143 IQ brain can’t figure out.

They’re not. They’re just… things that she deals with, things that she might want company for. But, inevitably, things that she always deals with alone.

Her mother would have helped her deal with them.

“I have to go,” she says, not really sure what this speech is supposed to accomplish. “To, uh, do some things.”

What breaks her heart is that her father doesn’t say anything, just waves a half-hearted goodbye and returns to looking at the camera Asami bought for him. For a millisecond, through a red haze, she can imagine her hands reaching out and smashing that damn camera so he’ll actually look at her, for once in her life, really truly  _ see _ her.

She breathes in deeply to quell the anger, spins on her heel, and leaves the room.

Asami’s fingers drum over the steering wheel in no particular rhythm. Not that she would be able to see what song she’s playing. It’s almost completely dark in their mansion’s massive garage, and the only light comes from the slit of yellow peeking beneath the door. The faint rays play through the shadows, falling over her face and outlining every edge. She’d stumbled out here in a daze and collapsed into the front seat of the car, her comfort spot. Up here, she gets to be in control.

She drops her head onto the wheel and sighs.  _ What am I doing here? _

Every time Asami closes her eyes, she sees Korra, and just now, it happens again. Her eyelids slide closed, a girl materializes in the darkness of her vision. An incredulous blue gaze, face wide open, betrayal written all over her. Something throbs in her chest, a flood of unease, a guilty heartbeat. She feels a little light-headed, like she could float away any minute.

She hadn’t meant to say those words. The ones about Korra being a slacker, and the ones about never needing her. Asami physically cringes at that. She has  _ two _ mistakes to amend, not just one.

Korra was hurt badly enough that she hasn’t spoken to Asami since the competition. And as a person who loves talking, that’s definitely unusual. Asami hates to think that was her fault, but honestly? It probably is.

It definitely is.

In her pocket, her phone buzzes. She takes it out.

**_Opal: merry christmas yall :DD_ **

**_Bolin: merry christmas babe!!!! ur the best_ **

**_Mako: i’m gonna throw up_ **

**_Wu: no don’t babe!!!!!! ur the best_ **

**_Opal: don’t make fun of bolin like that he’s sensitive_ **

**_Bolin: idk whether to agree or disagree with you_ **

**_Korra: merry christmas gang have a good one_ **

The group chat explodes with texts again, but out of all of the messages, Asami’s eyes are locked to Korra’s. The other girl still talks normally in the group chat, but never to Asami directly, privately or otherwise.

Granted, Asami hasn’t reached out to Korra in their private chat either. She hates herself a little for it.

Because  _ damn _ , she’s sorry. Fall-onto-her-knees sorry. To-the-moon sorry. She hadn’t been thinking straight: of how much they would hurt Korra, how they would stab her to the bone so deeply that even the five-year-olds in the church could see it.

She just doesn’t know how to say it.

“I didn’t mean it,” Asami whispers to herself, and again, a little louder, a little stronger. Her hand comes up to her cheek and finds moisture there.

Once again, the group chat erupts. She unlocks her phone, the tiny beacon glowing like a halo in the dark garage.

**_Wu: anybody wanna do something today??_ **

**_Wu: go see a movie or smth_ **

**_Wu: mako i’m talking to you_ **

**_Opal: sorry can’t i’m with bolin_ **

**_Bolin: sorry can’t i’m with bolin_ **

**_Opal: did you just copy paste that_ **

**_Korra: sorry but no thanks i kinda want to work on meditation_ **

**_Mako: wow i guess i’m doomed_ **

**_Wu: it’s not doom it’s DESTINY_ **

Asami remembers pretty clearly that Korra hates meditation, despite their piano teacher’s numerous attempts to get her to do it. (And by that, she means to get the whole studio to do it. She remembers the event from four years ago only because Kuvira, the oldest student, had tried to stand up after three hours of sitting and whacked her head against the table so hard she’d flipped it. Korra had laughed for ten minutes, her full-body laugh where she throws back her head and her smile is almost infectious, and Asami felt her breath taken away by someone of the same gender for the first time.)

She can say sorry to herself all day long. But the fact remains that if Korra is voluntarily doing meditation - or even lying about voluntarily doing meditation - something is wrong. And that something has to be her.

Asami hits the “Open Garage” button on her car. The door opens, letting light spill into the room. She knows where to go.

“Spirits,” Asami groans out loud. “Where am I going?”

She’d been driving to Korra’s house, filled with determination, before she’d remembered that Korra was, indeed, a very talkative person. And she’d met Korra’s parents, who seemed, indeed, like very attentive people.

Her brain had spun much too quickly for her own liking and come to the conclusions that, a) Korra had probably told her parents about what Asami had said, and b) said parents probably hate Asami’s guts now.

So, like any rationally overwhelmed person, she’d pulled over into the first parking lot she could find and put her forehead on the horn until somebody shouted at her. And now she has no idea what to do.

She doesn’t want to go back to her house, with its echoing, echoing silence and the half-confused, half-disappointed looks her father gives her. She doesn’t want to go to Korra’s house, where she’d inevitably have to skulk away soon after ringing the doorbell under Tonraq and Senna’s disapproving glares. And, of course, she doesn’t want to sit here all day. The options flash through her head again, and she almost sinks down in her seat.

Asami looks out the window absentmindedly and does a double take when she sees the establishment she’s parked next to. A Starbucks. The one she and Korra took a trip to a few afternoons ago that may or may not have been a date. The one in which they drank hot chocolate and talked for two hours.

It’s so stunningly cliche that she laughs out loud to the emptiness of her car. She sounds like a crazy person.  _ I should probably go, _ she thinks to herself.

As if her body is on autopilot, her arms reach for the door and her feet carry her out of the car. Asami stands looking up at the bold Starbucks sign, face blank, thoughts whirling. She doesn’t even care that her boots are getting soaked through by the snow on the ground, or that the Starbucks is closed because it’s Christmas Day. She might just enter it anyway, and then- what? Sit at a table alone with a cup in her hands and wait for the authorities to come after her?

She shakes her head irritably, turns and starts walking back to her car.  _ Damn it, Asami, what are you doing? _

“...Asami?”

And, of course, it gets even more cliche.

Her eyes flick to the speaker - a girl a few inches shorter than her, dark skin and darker hair, her hand holding the leash of a massive white dog, an old blue jacket hugging her biceps that shouldn’t be holding her attention this long  _ damn it again what are you doing? _

“Hey,” she says out loud, and immediately almost smacks herself. Out of all the things? And it gets even worse. “Why are you here?”

“I was walking Naga.” She tugs on the leash, and the dog reluctantly turns her head away from the squirrel she’d been staring at attentively.

The expression on Korra’s face is oddly, uncharacteristically blank. Asami knows the other girl tends to wear her emotions inside out, so normally, she’s easy enough to read. Not so today. Her green eyes rove over Korra so many times and find nothing to work with.

So she steps forward, a tiny movement that feels like walking onto a bird-covered field: the smallest misstep, and they’ll all fly away. Asami means to be tentative, but instead, the first words that spill out of her mouth are, “I’m so sorry.”

Again, Korra is silent, her arms folded and her face closed-off. Even Naga closes her mouth and stops panting. She’s in this on her own.

Asami takes a deep breath, trying to stop the strange pounding sensation in her head, and continues on. “So maybe we did fail the performance, but that’s not an excuse for how angry I got before it. And not an excuse for the things I said.”

At this, something in Korra seems to shift. A little bit of tension seems to evaporate from her posture. Then, without warning, she jumps into the conversation too. “I’m really sorry I didn't practice too,” she blurts out, then winces. “It doesn’t even seem like a big deal at this point, but it messed up our game a lot, and I know your father-”

“This isn’t about him,” Asami interrupts, not wanting to talk about her sole parent right now, not when things seem to be going kind of well. In the long run, she supposes losing  _ one _ competition doesn’t sting nearly as much as losing Korra. “Those words… I never should have said them. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry if they hurt you.” She turns her palms up, letting them do the pleading. “I promise, if you want me back, I’ll be better. I swear I can be a good friend to you.” (At the word  _ friend _ , she feels her heart drop, and she thinks Korra looks a little disappointed too. But she’s probably just seeing things.)

Korra studies her for a moment, then asks, “As good as Mako?”

That boy’s eyebrows are scary on multiple levels. “I should hope so.”

“As good as Bolin?” Korra’s tone has grown challenging, but there’s no hardness in it, and Asami feels a massive smile break out over her face.

“I’ll try my best.”

“Really?” Korra smirks, then drops the last bombshell. “As good as Opal?”

Asami thinks of Opal’s steady smiles, how she can coax a laugh out of her during any given situation, of her love for peace and perfect friendships. “If you think about it, Opal’s the one who brought us together in the first place,” she observes.

“You’re dodging the question,” Korra says, but she looks relieved too, and that makes Asami even more relieved, and she stares and grins and blushes at Korra for maybe a little too long. She clears her throat and walks a little closer, and Korra does the same. Naga trots after her obediently.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry about screwing the competition up for us,” Korra speaks again, echoing her previous words. “We might have had a chance at advancing further if I’d practiced more.”

_ And then what? We keep playing this song together, with no intentions instead of winning? Practicing and practicing, on and on and on? _ Once again, she doesn’t mean to say it, but it's as if Asami’s filter has entirely disappeared. “Maybe friendship was the real prize all along.”

Korra stares, her mouth a little open, then doubles over in frenzied laughter, ignoring the weird looks from the three other people in the parking lot. “Did you- did you just quote a meme at me? I never thought I’d see the day-”

“I am not  _ that _ out of touch!” Asami protests, but Korra’s still laughing with something lively in her eyes. She feels warm inside, like melted chocolate, and on instinct she closes the last remaining distance between them and wraps Korra in a hug.

The other girl stiffens for a moment, then her posture relaxes, and her arms go around Asami’s waist and she feels her heart skip about five beats in a row. She holds onto Korra tightly, feeling her dark brown hair brush against her neck.

Eventually, one of them pulls away, probably Korra because Asami thinks dreamily that she might never have let go. Her chest feels cold with its sudden absence of warmth. With the onslaught of freezing winter air comes a slew of realizations: she’s standing in a parking lot with a massive blush on her face, eyes wide, experiencing the most Hallmark-like moment she’s ever experienced. Luckily, it looks like Korra’s doing the exact same thing.

Naga sits down on the asphalt and barks, loudly. It startles Asami out of her haze, and she realizes  _ oh shoot I should probably say something. _

“I’m glad to know we’re friends again,” Asami says earnestly. “And I’ll do better in the future.”  _ I have to. _

Maybe she’s imagining it, but she could swear a flash of disappointment flickers over Korra’s face at the word  _ friends _ , there and gone as fast as a lightning strike. “Yeah,” Korra says. “I will too.”

Asami remembers her house, a mansion, a skeleton of what it once had been. Deprived of its soul and life and beating heart. She’s struck with an epiphany, and she asks tentatively, but confidence grows inside her. “Maybe you could come over sometime? Not necessarily to play piano, but just to… hang out, I guess?” Korra’s gaze seems to study her, and she scrambles to elaborate. “Since the competition didn’t go too well, and this might make up for it-”

“Of course,” Korra answers warmly and pats Naga’s head, and Asami thinks she’s glowing, thinks she might burst like a balloon. Her next words are spoken with a playful smirk and a tone of anticipation in her voice. “But I think I have a better idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess i lied in my last end note - i'm physically incapable of writing fast rippp
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed this update, there's two chapters to go and five days until my end goal! fingers crossed i can get this done in time
> 
> once more, thank you all for reading!!
> 
> -songbird


	9. rubato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally 3k of fluff and i don't regret anything
> 
> definitions:  
> chord - multiple notes played together in harmony  
> tempo - the speed of a piece  
> waltz - a type of music with three beats in each measure (a small section of a song), typically good for dancing

“This would be so much easier if you knew how to drive,” Asami says wearily, her hands on the steering wheel and her feet on the pedals. It doesn’t look too different from piano, how she drives: like every movement is methodical, like each hand motion is part of a bigger picture.

Korra pulls herself back down to earth. “Maybe you should teach me.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she realizes how weirdly suggestive they sound.  _ Like flirting. _ Thankfully, Asami doesn’t seem to react that much, just keeping her eyes on the shadowy evening road and throwing back a distracted “Yeah, sure.”

After their initial meeting in the Starbucks lot, Korra had been buzzing with energy. Making a friend, fighting, apologizing, making a friend again - in a matter of weeks, everything had gone faster than she had bonded with anybody else in their friend group. But now, actually sitting here with her, Korra feels like she’s known Asami for years. She doesn’t feel like a risk anymore. She feels so much closer. Like home.

Playing a duet with someone isn’t just about lining up the hands. It’s about choosing a tempo and being able to hold it through all its fluctuations. It’s about balancing the melody lines, bringing out the right ones. Most of all, it’s about knowing when to get softer, when to step out of the spotlight and let your partner shine.

She can recognize the little signs in Asami now. Like when she loosens her posture just a little bit, ready to lower the volume on her playing. Or when she plays a particularly good chord and a half-exhilarated smile spreads across her face, almost triumphant. Even when the music gets more intimate and her gaze goes soft and faraway like she’s dreaming with her eyes open.

Korra sees that now. “Hey,” she says. Her voice comes out raspy, and she can’t help but think that it fits the serene occasion, with the stars just beginning to emerge from their blanket of blue. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re worth a quarter, at least.”

_ Whatever’s going on inside your head is probably worth a million. _ “Okay, whatever you say. Quarter for your thoughts-? Left turn left here  _ left- _ ”

The car veers left with a screeching sound, turning onto a smaller side street lined with suburban-looking houses. Asami looks like she’s trying to swallow a gasp. “How about you just tell me the directions ahead of time instead of shouting them at the last second?”

Korra rubs her neck sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just pretty excited.”

“Where  _ are _ we going anyway?” Asami glances over briefly, then looks back to the road. After a few seconds of maneuvering, Korra still manages to catch her eye in the rearview mirror. “You didn’t even tell me. I’ve been driving blind for half an hour.”

Korra feels something happy bloom inside her at that. Asami trusts her enough to drive straight into the shadows just based on her directions, even when she hasn’t been informed of the destination, on the evening of Christmas Day. Still, she has to acknowledge the fact that she should definitely tell her where they’re going.  _ Honesty is the best policy _ , she can practically hear Tenzin saying.

“Since we lost the competition,” Korra starts, pleasantly surprised to observe only a little bit of bitterness in her voice, “I thought we could do something else together. It is the holiday season, after all.”

(Internally, she realizes how much she sounds like Tenzin, her old piano teacher with his love for classical music, old books, and literally anything related to meditation. He’s fussy and rigorous and a stickler for rules. Surprisingly, she doesn’t mind.)

“And?” Asami prods, when Korra falls silent for a few moments. “What’s that ‘something else’ you’re talking about?”

“Tenzin’s kids were over at my house, and they were talking about the annual Christmas party their grandpa always holds.” Korra grins, looks over at Asami. “Apparently, there’s always a piano player there. So I texted Tenzin, and it turns out the pianist this year got sick, and they were looking for a replacement.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Or  _ two _ .”

“Korra! You did  _ not _ sign us up.” Asami has a laugh in her voice, but there’s something else she can’t read on her face.

Nevertheless, she gives her two thumbs up. “I  _ did _ . And I got the directions and, well, here we are. There’s plenty of holiday music there for us to sight read, and you can even play a solo if you want. I’m sure nobody will mind.”

When Asami doesn’t respond immediately, anxiety starts to build inside Korra. “Should I not have?” she asks, her voice a little panicky. “I know you’re kind of hesitant about these things, and it is Christmas Day, or evening now, so I understand if you want to go back and you can turn this car around right now.” She takes a breath. “If you want.”

“No, no, Korra.” Asami lifts her hand from the wheel and brushes it across Korra’s outstretched one, a feather-light touch that leaves her breathless anyway. Her smile cracks open a jar of butterflies in Korra’s chest. “Thank you for doing this. I… I do think I need to get out of my comfort zone a little bit.”

Asami hesitates for a fraction of a second, then adds, “And frankly, there’s really no one else I’d rather spend Christmas with.”

“Wow,” slips out of Korra’s mouth, spoken under her breath. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, and thank all the spirits, Asami doesn’t seem to notice. She glances out the window - “Wait, pull over here.”

Asami steers the car to the edge of the road, parking it at the end of a long line of other vehicles. She hops out, smoothes down her clothes, and winces. “Ugh, I didn’t even know where we were going, so I dressed so casually.” She blinks at Korra. “I don’t look nearly as pretty as you,” she says, then seems to instantly regret it.

All the blood in Korra’s body rushes to her face, and she allows herself to subtly glance at what Asami’s wearing. Of course, it looks amazing. “You do look pretty,” she answers softly.

If she were a poet, she’d compare Asami’s beam to something bright and glowing. The sun, maybe. But even that doesn’t seem to match up with the other girl’s face right now. “Thank you,” she says, her face going pink, then tips her head at the house that seems to be the center of it all, graceful roofs and windows warm with golden light. “Shall we go in?”

“Oh,  _ yeah _ ,” Korra says, internally wincing at her choice of words. Her embarrassment evaporates when Asami takes her hand, though, and they step inside together.

It’s almost overwhelming how many people there are. Mingling in crowds with drinks that Korra definitely isn’t old enough to enjoy. Sitting on the couches and talking to each other with animated expressions and hand motions. Clustered around the piano, which, of course, has an empty bench.

“It’s actually kind of nice in here,” Korra says in wonder, glancing around. Asami nods in agreement. Holiday lights are strung over all the walls, a table laden with seasonal desserts sits in the corner (Korra’s eyes glaze over a little bit at the sight), and a massive Christmas tree glows near the back of the room, covered in ornaments and topped with a star. Tenzin’s parents certainly went all out for this party.

A child materializes out of the crowd - Ikki, with Meelo in tow - and grabs Korra’s other hand, tugging her to the back of the room. There, Tenzin looks up from his conversation. “You made it!” he says cheerfully to the two of them, who smile awkwardly in return.

Tenzin gestures to the older man on the other side of the table, who looks very similar to their piano teacher, minus the beard. “This is my father. He’s hosting the party.”

Asami holds out her hand politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr…”

“Oh, just call me Aang,” the man says. He grasps Asami’s hand and shakes it enthusiastically. Korra notices the arrow tattoo on his forehead, identical to Tenzin’s, and his quartz gray eyes that gleam like a much younger person’s. 

Before Asami can even pull her hand away, Aang spots an older woman entering the room and immediately waves her over. Korra recognizes one of the judges at their ill-fated festival, with a complexion similar to her own.

“This is Katara, my best friend,” Aang says cheerfully. Katara elbows him with surprising force, and he adds hastily, “Also, we’re married.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you two again. Help yourself to the food. Talk to anyone. It’s the least we could do, since you took up this little gig at the last minute.” Katara has an undeniable warmth about her. Korra can’t help but feel safe in her presence.

“Leave some fruit pie for me, though,” Aang pipes up. Korra laughs and salutes jokingly.

Tenzin shepherds her and Asami over to the piano, clearing the crowd around it. Together, they sit down, both of them shifting uncomfortably under the gazes of the watching party guests. “Where’s the sheet music?” Korra asks.

“One second,” Tenzin answers, on his tiptoes in front of a bookcase, where he pulls out a book, another, two more, three more, five. Korra feels her mouth fall open as he turns around with a self-satisfied grin. “Easy enough for you to sight read, complicated enough to sound good. Is this enough?”

She’s about to answer when Asami joins in, stars in her excited green eyes. “More than enough.”

Their hands touch the keys together. Music pours from the piano. Korra feels warm and full and golden. The people around them fade away, until all she can see is the white and black of the instrument in front of her, the sound enveloping her, and the girl beside her.

Playing with Asami is just as exhilarating as riding a roller coaster, minus the nausea and the frantic screaming. Her fingers twirl over the keys like birds through the air, and even though she misses notes here and there, she plays through them. There’s no point in stopping and tripping up her partner, ruining the easy harmony they have right now.

Besides, it’s actually kind of… fun. Not to sound like a nerd, but there’s a rush that sight-reading gives her, simply playing through a song without stopping to think about it too much. To Korra, it feels a little bit like floating on an ocean current, letting the waves push her wherever they wish. Vast, endless blue stretching out under and over and around her. Looking into the horizon is almost overwhelming.

Almost.

Korra lifts her hands off the piano and high-fives Asami in one smooth motion. “I never knew  _ All I Want For Christmas _ could sound so good. Even after hearing it about fifty times within the span of two weeks.”

“I almost never play pop songs, but it’s relaxing,” Asami admits. “They’re just one of those things I love to hate, I guess.”

Korra pulls another book from the piano and flips through the pages, glancing at the duet titles. “Ready for another pop song, then?”

Asami looks like she’s restraining a playful eye roll. “I can hardly stand the suspense.”

To be truthful, this party, even though it’s mostly populated by old people that she doesn’t even know, is turning out to be way better than she anticipated. The gentle chatter surrounding them makes Korra feel right at home. Every once in a while, someone will come over and compliment their playing, or request a song like it’s a high school dance.

Which is exactly what happens now. Just when Korra and Asami have settled on  _ Last Christmas _ (purely to torture Asami, of course), Jinora makes her way over, pink dusting her face. “I just wanted to say that you two are probably the best background players we’ve ever had,” she tells them. “Your playing really sets the scene. It’s so atmospheric and soothing.”

Asami looks flattered beyond belief, but Korra snorts, not unkindly. She’s known Jinora since the two of them were babies, so she feels a lot like a sister to her. And with sisterhood comes the spirits-given right to endlessly bully the other. Lovingly, of course. “You rehearsed that ahead of time, didn’t you?”

Jinora continues. “In fact, maybe you should come back again next year. It’s very clear that you’re talented people.”

“Spit it out, kid,” Korra orders. “What do you want?”

A dramatic sigh whooshes out of Jinora’s mouth, accompanied with an intensifying blush and a furtive glance over her shoulder. “I have a song request - well, not a specific one, but more of a style,” she says gingerly. “Something slower. Something… romantic?”

Korra lets a burst of laughter escape her. Meanwhile, Asami is already rooting through  _ Music on a Winter’s Evening _ , a smile threatening to curve her mouth. Jinora looks absolutely mortified.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Korra finally answers.

“ _ Thank _ you,” Jinora says, stretching out the vowels. Almost self-consciously, she looks over her shoulder again. This time, Korra’s eyes follow her gaze to a boy about Jinora’s age with floppy brown hair and green eyes, drinking hot chocolate by the refreshments.

For the first time since Jinora approached them, Asami speaks. “Good luck,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes.

“I- it’s-” Jinora seems to lose the battle she’s waging with herself. “Thanks.” She turns and walks over to the boy, who waves and says something that makes Jinora laugh. Hard.

“Young love,” Korra says half-wistfully, half-jokingly. With a jolt of surprise, she realizes Asami isn’t looking at Jinora and her maybe-boyfriend, but Korra herself.

And then Asami realizes that Korra realized, and she clears her throat and pushes her black hair behind her ear. “Um. Do you want to play  _ Auld Lang Syne _ for Jinora then?”

“We are going to turn this place into a Netflix rom-com,” Korra declares loudly. The maybe-boyfriend looks over at her, and she hurriedly busies herself with snatching the book from Asami’s grasp and laying it out on the music stand.

“We should hurry,” Asami whispers lightly, her gaze on Jinora, who’s looking more and more panicked by the second. Korra nods, mouths the tempo in their traditional count-off, and begins playing.

It’s not that Korra’s never heard this song before - it’s only in every holiday movie ever made - but playing it with Asami makes it entirely new. Every note, every triad, is washed with vibrant colors she’s never seen before, silver paler than the moon, gold warmer than the flames in the fireplace. Korra grins at Asami, and Asami grins back at Korra, and together they find the meaning in the notes they’ve always overlooked.

A quick glance over at the center of the room reveals Aang and Katara waltzing clumsily to the song, even though they really can’t dance and this is definitely not a waltz. They’re stepping on each others’ toes and giggling into their hands, which reminds Korra irresistibly again of a high school prom. Even just watching them, she feels peaceful. Jinora and her maybe-boyfriend follow, and they would look incredibly awkward if they weren’t staring at each other like- well, like  _ that _ .

“They look sweet, don’t they?” Asami’s still playing, but she’s watching the two younger teenagers with something soft on her face. Korra admires it, how she can focus on two things at a time and not screw up either one. ( _ And _ look perfect while doing it.)

“I’ll bet you ten dollars they’ll be together by the end of the month,” Korra dares. Her fingers slip a little bit, but it’s worth it to have Asami’s gaze rest on her like she’s the only flower in a field of snow.

Asami surveys them. “I say it’ll happen by the end of the  _ night _ .”

“Are you sure about that?” She thinks dreamily that she might be a little in love with this other side of her friend, the kind that challenges people and does it boldly.

The song draws to a close. Its final notes linger in the air like mist, sparkle like fireflies against the night. Korra lets her full attention be drawn to Asami, a magnet unable to fight the forces of physics, pulled and pulled toward its perfect match.

Asami’s eyes gleam like fallen green stars, like emeralds beaming through the dark. “Positive,” she says softly, and then they kiss each other.

Over the years, Korra’s heard kissing compared to everything: to fireworks, to a symphony, to the home you’ve been looking for. This is nothing like any of those. It’s sweet and soft and a declaration:  _ you are enough we are enough I love you I love you I love you. _

Asami’s fingers tangle in her hair, piano forgotten, and Korra sighs out loud. It’s like nothing she’s ever known before. A moment, not a lifetime, a heartbeat, not a shout. Brief, quiet, and for this moment, the only thing keeping her anchored to this earth.

They pull apart after a few seconds - because there’s literally a roomful of people watching - but Korra reaches for Asami’s hands and intertwines them with hers, aching for the warmth and the touch. Nervousness flutters in her stomach for a moment, since most of these people are about the age of most intolerant individuals she’s met, but many of them simply wink or flash a thumbs-up and turn away. Ikki and Meelo in particular, stuffing themselves in the corner, look like they want to shout or do something equally embarrassing, but Pema gives them a cutting glare and smiles in Korra’s general direction.

Korra looks at Asami, barely trusting her clumsy tongue to say anything. In the end, she’s the first one to speak anyway. “Is this the part where we say something touching?”

Asami laughs, bright and clear, and kisses her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i wrote this in two days. no i did not proofread. the next chapter should either be up the day after tomorrow, or the day after that - once again, i thank you so much for your continued support!
> 
> -songbird


	10. cadenza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is a little late, but hey, the day isn't over yet where i am :P this last chapter's a little longer to make up for that!
> 
> no definitions for this last chapter, i think (let me know if you're confused about anything!). i tried my best to make it less jargon-heavy and more wholesome <3
> 
> also, i have some analysis for this fic, so if anyone's interested in reading that i'll type it up and post it here!
> 
> happy reading :)

“Korra,  _ no _ ,” Asami says sternly. “We are  _ not _ playing that. Not here. Not now.”

“Come onnnnn, it’s Christmas Day! Just this once.” Korra bats her eyelashes, winks, flexes her arms. Her muscles are, admittedly, very eye-opening.

“That doesn’t work on me.” It’s a lie, and both of them know it. Asami can feel her face heating up. (Sue her, those biceps are  _ something _ .)

Korra seems to take the guaranteed blush on Asami’s cheeks as a go-ahead and opens the book to the correct page. Before she can set it down on the piano, Asami snatches it away from her, a very undignified giggle escaping her mouth. 

Korra lunges for it but misses as she maneuvers it behind her back deftly. She laughs too. Besides music, it might be the most beautiful sound Asami’s ever heard.

The two of them fight playfully over the book for a moment, but in the end, Korra wins. She slams it onto the stand and bangs out the opening chords of  _ I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas _ . That is, before Asami steals it again and sits on it. It might not be the most elegant way to play keep-away, but it’s surprisingly effective.

Once again, Korra makes a few grabs for the book. When she loses her balance, she lets her head fall into Asami’s lap, looking up. The contact is sudden and surprising, but when Asami gets over her initial bisexual panic, she feels less like a deer in headlights and more comfortable. More safe. She lets her fingers trail lightly over Korra’s arm, who grins up at her.

It’s late, almost midnight, and most people have left the party by now. Tenzin is arm-wrestling his wife and losing badly, his voice hazy with alcohol. Aang and Katara have been sitting down for a while, but Aang is tugging at her sleeve now, trying to get her back out on the “dance floor.” In the corner, Jinora and Meelo are arguing loudly about something, probably over the last dumpling on the plate. The gentle sounds of talking burble through the room like currents through a river, voices upon voices in a comforting cacophony.

She’s never met the vast majority of these people before tonight. Most of them look four times older than her. Nevertheless, this little room feels more like home to Asami than the mansion she lives in ever did. With the fire behind the grate burning cheerfully, the holiday lights twinkling, it’s almost ridiculously cozy. Asami wonders what would happen if she simply stayed here, refused to leave. Never saw her father again.

Ikki passes by the piano, cookies in hand. “Are you two-”

“No,” they blurt out in unison.

“I was asking if you two are still gonna play music tonight,” Ikki huffs. “But fine, suit yourself. Play with each other instead.” She saunters/stomps/runs away in that fashion that only elementary schoolers can achieve.

Korra wheezes. “She did  _ not _ just go there-” Laughing hard, she sits up straight, and Asami can’t deny the slight disappointment that she experiences. She adjusts her posture too, glancing at the piano, but ultimately deciding that time with her friend is more valuable.

Despite the fact that she answered the same thing, Korra’s quick denial makes Asami feel… something. Discontentment? Betrayal? Asami looks at the girl next to her, with her warm dark skin and short choppy hair, and wonders if being  _ with _ her would be so bad.

“...Asami? Earth to Asami?” She blinks, refocuses her eyes, to see Korra about four inches away from her. “Hello? Still in control of your brain?”

Almost instinctively, Asami scoots away. “Sorry. Zoned out for a second. What’s up?”

Korra looks down at their tangled hands, fingers reaching for each other like waves to the shoreline. When she speaks, she sounds unusually cautious, a far cry from the bold, unflinching person she’s carved herself out to be in Asami’s mind. “I was wondering…” She lifts their hands. “What are these? What are we?”

“Friends,” Asami answers immediately, then winces. “Something else? More than that? I don’t know, what do you think?”  _ Why do you talk so fast when you’re nervous- _

“Girlfriends?”

All of Asami’s words die on her tongue, all of her thoughts in her brain. The only thing she can do is nod, dumbstruck, and say, “Yes. That.”

“Wow,” Korra says faintly. She looks like she’s been hit upside the head.

They stare at each other in breathless silence, then Korra laughs incredulously, then again. Asami can’t help but join in until they’re giggling like little kids at a birthday party, hopped up on sugar. Their new label, her first relationship, has her completely giddy. She feels like a balloon, floating up to the sky. She doesn’t think she’ll ever come down.

“I’ve never dated somebody before,” Korra gets out after she finally calms down. Her tone is light, but Asami sees something else in her striking blue eyes: nervousness, fear, worry that she’s going to fail.

She knows that last emotion all too well.

Asami reaches out and squeezes Korra’s hand. “Hey. We’re in this together. And we’ll get through this together.” She offers a soft smile. “We can do this.”

“We can do this,” Korra echoes. She squeezes Asami’s hand back.

Their conversation soon morphs into a happier one, and they chat for a few minutes, quick back-and-forth banter like the kind they used to have. They soon return to playing the piano, but Asami can’t help but sneak disbelieving glances at Korra every so often. The other girl is absorbed in the keys, an expression of focus on her face.

(Later, Korra will give Asami a lingering gaze, just as yearning and tender as her own. She will miss it, lost in the music at exactly the wrong time. This feeling, to love fully and to be loved fully back, isn’t one she’s familiar with. She wants to be. She  _ really  _ wants to be.)

They play through four more duets together, though the piano is far from Asami’s main focus at this point. After they finish the last one, she closes the book and puts it under the bench with a yawn. “Are you up for another one?” Asami asks through bleary eyes. She doesn’t usually stay up until- she checks her phone- 1:03 A.M.

With a stab of guilt, she remembers her father as she notices the notifications that scroll across her screen. Six missed calls, eleven unread texts, spaced out over the last couple hours. Asami feels her stomach sinking as she clicks into Messages.

**_Father: Where are you?_ **

**_Father: Come home_ **

**_Father: You broke your curfew by an hour and twenty minutes_ **

Then, sent a mere twelve minutes ago, she sees it.

**_Father: I miss you_ **

She remembers their last encounter. She couldn’t bear the silence.

Korra, ever tactful, peers over Asami’s shoulder. “Did you seriously name your father “Father” in your contacts? To be fair, you’re Salami in mine-” Her eyes skim over the texts, and when she gets to the middle of the page, she seems to shrivel. “I, uh. Sorry.” She turns away quickly. “Guess that’s your private stuff.”

Asami struggles for an excuse, but finds none. She looks up at her girlfriend - her  _ girlfriend! _ \- sheepishly. “I maaaay have forgotten to mention to my dad that I was going to be here. For hours.”

Korra looks a little lost, but she leans in and wraps her arms around Asami anyway. “Are things weird between you and him?” she asks, muffled against Asami’s shirt.

“A little bit?” She’s not sure how to answer this question. “We haven’t been close since my mom died.” Spoken out loud, the words are plain and ordinary, as if she’s stating that she had eggs for breakfast today. Even so, they still sting.

When their conversation ebbs for a moment, Asami looks down at Korra’s shocked face. She realizes that the other girl probably doesn’t know about her mom. Judging from her reaction, she also probably doesn’t know how to deal with this.

Her assumptions are confirmed a few seconds later. “I’m sorry,” Korra says earnestly, nestling further into Asami’s warmth. “That sounds so painful.”

_ Don’t cry. Don’t cry. _

Asami’s never been one to wallow in sadness. Whenever something bad happens, she’s always looked toward the future, kept her eyes on the horizon, watched the sun rise. Korra makes her feel something else though. Like she can look at the darkness without completely losing herself.

Korra continues, “Maybe you should talk to him. I know I never would have gotten through the hard parts of my life without a support network.”

_ Don’t cry. _

Asami wants to deny it for a moment, but there’s a part of her that wants to consider it, wants to open herself up to the possibilities. “Okay. I will.”

She clears her throat and turns back to the piano. “Let’s keep playing.”

Korra gives her a chaste peck on the cheek and turns back to the keys. They play another song, and another, until Aang and Katara tell them they can go home and they run outside giddily and kiss each other in the snow, laughing against each other’s lips until the clock holds still.

The night outside is peaceful, serene, the street lit only by the golden glow of lamps. The car rolls down the road at a steadily slow pace. Asami glances out the window from her driver’s seat and wonders why she ever bothered to look at the stars when the brightest object in the universe was sitting right next to her.

Korra has her feet kicked up on the dashboard and her eyes closed, mouth curved in some sort of half sleep. If it was anyone else, Asami would bark at them to take their legs down. But because it’s her girlfriend (seriously, every time she thinks it, her brain buzzes like it’s the first time), she’s tolerating it. Barely.

Also, because Korra’s not wearing any shoes. What in the-

Next to the house, the car comes to a halt. Korra jumps awake, puts her shoes back on, and opens the door. “I better go in,” she says, but her eyes seem to snag on Asami as she speaks.

Before she can chicken out, Asami says it. “Starbucks again tomorrow?” she offers. “Well, actually, today, I guess. Maybe in the afternoon, around three? Or if you don’t want to drink caffeine then we can do in the morning, like at eleven, or-”

Korra catches her hand. “Three sounds good. I’d love to.”

_ I love you. _

She breathes a sigh of relief, smiles and nods. “See you soon.”

“Yeah.” Korra brushes her fingers over Asami’s with a smile in her voice. “See you soon.”

Asami steps onto the marble floor of her house, flinching as the front door closes with a resounding thud. It’s late, super late, and she’s probably not only broken her curfew at this point, but shattered it to tiny, irreparable bits. She reaches for the light switch but pulls her hand back at the last moment, not wanting to wake her father up.

The shadows draping the corners of the walls seem to loom forward as Asami walks further into the house, and she leans away from them. She’s always been a little uneasy in the dark. You never know what you’re going to find.

She tiptoes, on edge, toward her bedroom, hoping she doesn’t have to see her father. Asami has no idea how he’ll react - anger, frustration, displeasure - but she’s certain it won’t be good. The two texts from earlier shove into her mind, moments of weakness from a normally-strong man. So she pushes them out, not wanting to deal with the implications.  _ Just a lapse of judgement. They can’t be anything else.  _

The floor is cold against her feet, so she picks up her speed, faster and faster, almost at her room, almost home free-

In her father’s room, a light flicks on.

Giving up all pretense of silence, Asami scrambles to her door. She’s halfway into the room when her father opens his own door, peers out into the hallway, and sees his daughter with flushed red cheeks and snow speckling her hair, looking like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Asami looks nervously at him, but she can’t gauge his reaction from his exceptional poker face. He stares at her in silence for a moment, then clears his throat and beckons her inside his room. She has no choice but to follow.

It’s not every day that she goes inside the mansion’s master bedroom, because it’s simply, well, massive. Almost overwhelming. Everywhere she looks, there’s sharp corners and edges, bright, bright white. There’s no sign of Christmas here. Asami can’t figure out a safe place to look.

“I was waiting for you.” Her father’s voice is almost harsh in the silence. It demands attention. He’s not dressed in pajamas, but normal day attire, which makes her wonder if he stayed up waiting for her, pacing the floor, eyebrows drawn together in worry. Now, though, he looks calm, maybe even distant. “I almost called the police.”

“I’m sorry,” Asami answers, struggling to keep emotion out of her voice. She wonders if she should say something else, but her mouth feels sewn shut, stopping any noise from escaping. She turns to leave and has one foot out the door before her father speaks again.

“I have been waiting for a while.”

And at that, she can’t help herself anymore. Something in her seems to snap, broken free and released from years of tension. She dimly registers in the back of her brain that she shouldn’t be getting mad at her father, the man who’s raised her, but the rest of her thoughts say  _ to hell with it _ and they win.

Asami spins around, face stormy and dark with pent-up fury. “You’ve been  _ waiting, _ huh?” she asks, and her voice is quiet but trembles with something better left unspoken. “As if I’m the one who wasn’t trying. As if I didn’t  _ want _ to be close to you!”

_ Don’t cry. Don’t cry. _

Her father opens his mouth, but no words come out. Asami feels anger mount higher in her, long lying dormant, at last ready to spring. She’s not yelling, but speaking softly, bitterly. “All these years. All this time. It’s like you just gave up after Mom died.”

Something in his face changes at the mention of his deceased wife. “Now, listen-”

“No! I’m done listening!” Asami starts to pace, a habit she can’t break. “It’s always listening, staying quiet, every day of my life. Didn’t you ever wonder if I wanted to do the talking?”

His legs seem to go weak and he sits down heavily on the voluminous bed, burying his face in his hands. When he talks, his words are even quieter, the words of a broken man who’s tried and tried to piece himself back together. “You sound just like her.”

The air is sucked from Asami’s lungs.

Her father looks up, and with a shock that runs through her whole body, she sees that his eyes are rimmed with red. “We moved here from Japan to get away from your mother’s family. They were so… so controlling, and they did not want her to be with a half-baked child who thought he was an inventor. She had so many ideas, and they never bothered to pay attention to her.” He inhales deeply, as if gathering his thoughts. “The night we left, she said to me, I have always wanted to do the speaking.’”

“I-” Asami can’t find the words. She’s only heard snippets about her family’s history before, let alone this.

_ Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. _

He gets to his feet and walks over gingerly. Before Asami can even consider her options, he wraps her in a bone-crushing hug, almost like the ones he used to give. After a moment, she tentatively hugs him back.

“I am…” His voice is cut off by a sob, and he pulls her closer. “I am  _ so _ sorry. For this time… I have not been a good father to you. I will do better.”

“Maybe I should have reached out too,” Asami says, not bothering to hide the way her voice wobbles and cracks.

“No,” he answers fiercely. He pulls away and looks her straight in the eyes. “As a parent, I have to be there for you.” He swallows hard and continues. “I know I have never said it before, but you are  _ everything _ to me, Asami. There is no one else left for me to love.”

Asami thinks of Korra then, her determined positivity and stubborn resilience. The way she can look at anything with relentless optimism, from her closest friend to a dandelion in the school soccer field. “There is. There is everything in the world to love.”

“When did you grow up to become so wise?”

“It doesn’t have to be wisdom,” she answers. “Just hope.”

Her father turns away and back quickly, but she doesn’t miss the way he swipes at his eyes. “You know, there is another piano competition coming up,” he points out. “It is… composition. You write your own song.”

She smiles up at him through the tears blurring her vision. One slides down her face, and she doesn’t wipe it away. “Thank you. I think I’ll give it a try.”

Asami stays up until the sun rises, sitting at the piano and playing through melodies she pulls from her mind. The paper in front of her is covered with notes and scribbles by the time she finishes, and her hand is smudged, but she’s finished a song, her very first.

She plays through it and can’t help but notice that it’s rough around the edges. But it’s done. Looking at the paper, she feels full to bursting.  _ She’s  _ done it. She has no idea how. 

Maybe it’s because of Bolin and Opal, blowing up her phone with gentle flirting. Maybe it’s because of Mako and his confession of undying (well, maybe not quite) love for Wu, sent accidentally to the group chat instead of their private thread.

Maybe it’s Korra, with her quick wit and quicker smile, her warm hands that reach straight to Asami’s heart. How she feels like a twin star to Asami, one she can fall into comfortable orbit with, a dance of light and dark, never letting go.

But when she lifts her hands off the keys at the end of the song, Asami knows that it’s her. That it’s always been her. These notes are new, these melodies are original. The song is hers to write.

She’s holding the pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe this is the last chapter. i can't believe i churned out 28.5k words in just over three weeks. it's been such a journey, and although this isn't my best work, i'm happy to put it out here for you all.
> 
> if you've kept up with this fic until the end - or even if you just jumped to this last chapter, haha - i want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart. the support for this work has been so uplifting. i'm really, really grateful. 2020 has been completely wack and writing has always been my solace. it's super meaningful to see that others enjoy what i do.
> 
> nothing's set in stone yet, but i've been dreaming up another tlok fic. it'll hopefully be pretty hefty, and i hope to balance it between angst and fluff. if i do end up writing it, it'll probably be posted sometime during spring.
> 
> anyway, i think it's time to wrap up this ramble. once again, thank you so so much for reading. i wish you a safe and joyful holiday season <3
> 
> -songbird


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